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Dance of The Dragonwolf Chapter 15 (A Walk Through Memories)
🕑 Added 2023-05-18 19:29:39 +0000 UTCBenjen couldn't help but smile at the sight of his beloved daughter, now a grown woman, holding her own family close.
"Father, it's good to see you again."
"Daughter, you look healthy and happy. Brings me joy to see you." Benjen spoke with a deep voice, looking at Lyanna from up close with a kind smile, his attention turning to Prince Daemon, standing beside Lyanna.
"I hope you find Winterfell to your liking, Prince Daemon." The man spoke respectfully, shaking the prince's hand.
"Quite a beautiful castle you have, my lord. It might be cold, but I see the appeal to it." Daemon spoke respectfully before pushing Aenar forward, who looked up at Benjen.
With a twinkle in his eye and a warm smile on his face, Benjen crouched down to meet him at eye level. As he took in the sight of the child before him, Benjen couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance to his daughter, Lyanna. The young boy's dark hair was a clear indication of his Stark heritage, but there was something about his eyes that betrayed his Targaryen bloodline.
"You must be my grandson," Benjen spoke softly, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "Your resemblance to your mother is uncanny, but there's no mistaking the Targaryen look in you."
"Yes, Lord Stark. I'm Aenar Targaryen." Aenar spoke, straightening himself in front of the lord, he didn't know the man, but he could see the similarities between Benjen and Lord Eddard Stark.
"No need for that, young Stark. Just call me Grandfather." The man spoke softly before standing up and addressing his daughter.
"You must be tired from the journey. Please come in. I really want to hear everything you have to tell me about the South." Benjen encouraged, before ordering the servants of House Stark, including Bennard Stark and his children, to guide them all inside to their respective bedchambers; Benjen couldn't remember the last time Winterfell had so many guests, and there would be even more; it was a Royal Weeding, Houses from all over Westeros except Dorne were invited in this Wedding, Benjen was sure Winterfell and Wintertown never had this many people at the same time ever before.
Benjen knew this wedding was a huge boom for House Stark, as much if not more than when Lyanna married Prince Daemon; while that marriage had tied House Stark with the Royal Family, the betrothal between Rickon and Princess Gael Targaryen would secure that the future generation of House Stark would have Stark and Targaryen Blood.
Both held blood with magic; As Benjen reminisced about his childhood, his mind wandered to the mischievous little mouse that used to scurry around the kitchen of Winterfell, causing chaos and commotion among the staff. However, rather than trapping or shooing the pesky rodent away like most children would, Benjen discovered a unique talent within himself - the ability to warg into animals and see the world through their eyes. With intense concentration and a deep connection to the little mouse, Benjen was able to enter its mind and feel the thrill of scurrying across the cold stone floors and nibbling on scraps of food left behind by the cooks.
As he reminisced about his past, he couldn't help but recall the countless times he had relied on his unique ability to Warg, a gift he had inherited from his ancestors, to gain an advantage in his battles against dangerous bandits and wildlings that roamed the lands. Despite the temptations to misuse his power, he had always been mindful of the consequences that came with it and only used it sparingly, knowing that it could easily consume him if he let it take over.
Benjen couldn't help but feel proud of his children and his House; Lyanna had secured a chance that Stark Blood would be on the Targaryen line and perhaps on the Iron Throne in the future. Rickon would marry a Princess, that alone was a huge boom, but the said Princess had a dragon of her own; with that alone, House Bolton would never dare to try anything; otherwise, they would feel The Dragon's Wrath.
Bennard had married a Lady from House Karstark in order to keep the Northern Lords happy to a certain extent, Benjen knew it wasn't enough, but he knew Rickon and Princess Gael's future children would marry Northern children, even if that meant that House Stark could wield the power of the Dragons only until Rickon's children lifespan ended.
As they walked through the seemingly endless corridors of Winterfell, Benjen couldn't help but feel lost in his thoughts, pondering about the upcoming wedding. But just as he was about to sink deeper into his worries, he was suddenly pulled out of his reverie by the sound of Lyanna's gentle voice, which seemed to come from his right side.
"Father, where is Princess Gael?" As she scanned the corridor, her eyes darted from corner to corner, searching for her beloved sister. Despite the presence of the King and The Queen walking alongside them, it was evident that they, too, were keen to know the whereabouts of their daughter.
"Princess Gael took Dreamfyre. She said her dragon wanted to spread her wings, your grace." Benjen informed them; the King and Queen nodded in understanding, but the King couldn't help but press his lips into a thin line upon hearing that.
As Prince Baelon stood next to his father, the King, he could sense the tension in the air. The reason for his father's evident unhappiness was quite clear to him, they had arrived in Winterfell, and Gael had not been there to greet them in the courtyard of Winterfell; her future husband had been but not Gael. Prince Baelon couldn't help but sigh weary, knowing his father wouldn't be pleased and would probably say something to Gael once she returned.
As they walked through the dimly lit corridor of the castle, an eerie and unsettling silence descended upon them, suffocating the air around them with its weight. The only sound that could be heard was the rhythmic thumping of their footsteps against the cold, hard stone floor, echoing through the long passageway like the beating of a distant drum. The stillness was so profound that it seemed to swallow up any other noise, leaving them feeling isolated and alone in the haunting atmosphere that surrounded them.
"Beautiful castle you have, Lord Benjen," he remarked with genuine admiration, his eyes alight with wonder as he surveyed the castle's impressive architecture. He couldn't help but marvel at the sheer strength and resilience of the fortress, which had withstood countless battles and sieges over the centuries.
Lord Benjen, a proud and stoic figure, could sense the prince's genuine appreciation for his castle, and a small smile played across his lips as he listened to Baelon's words. "I can see why many see it as one of Westeros's strongest castles," the prince continued, his voice filled with admiration and respect.
"Your grace is kind to me, and if I might ask. Is this your first in the North?" With a deep respect for the prince, Lord Benjen made sure to maintain his composure and avoid any direct eye contact, fully aware of the prince's royal status and the significance of the encounter.
"Yes, the Northest I have been was Riverlands. Is it true that Winterfell is built in Hot Springs?" Prince Baelon questioned, continuing their discussion.
Daemon restrained himself from chucking, leaving it to his father to give an impression with words; Daemon had always believed that in order to make a lasting impression, one must display their strength, both physical and mental. To him, strength was the ultimate symbol of power, and those who possessed it were considered to be at the top of the ladder.
He knew that in order to climb that ladder, he needed to prove his worth and demonstrate his dominance in all aspects of life. From the way he spoke to the way he walked, everything about him exuded strength and confidence, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind as to where he stood on the ladder of power. For Daemon, it wasn't enough to simply be strong - he needed to show it, to make sure that everyone around him knew that he was a force to be reckoned with.
He had seen many who had used their silver-tongued words to inch their way up the rungs, but he knew that beautiful words could only get someone so far. In his eyes, it was the show of strength that truly separated the wheat from the chaff. It was the ability to hold one's own on the battlefield, to crush one's enemies and see them driven before you that truly set apart the worthy from the unworthy. Daemon knew that it was not enough to simply speak eloquently or charm those around you. To truly succeed, one had to be a force to be reckoned with, capable of wielding power and crushing anyone who dared to stand in their way. Strength showed how high they could climb on the ladder of Power or fly, Daemon thought.
Daemon watched Aenar and gazed upon the walls of the magnificent castle. He anticipated Aenar's reaction to be a blend of curiosity and amazement, as the castle was a grand and unfamiliar sight to the young child. However, much to his surprise, Daemon noticed a profound sadness in Aenar's eyes, a melancholic expression that suggested a deeper sadness within his son's heart. Despite Daemon's attempts to coax a response from the boy, Aenar remained transfixed by the walls, lost in a world of his own thoughts and emotions. Daemon couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern for his son, wondering what could be troubling him so deeply.
As Daemon frowned slightly, wondering what unexpected thoughts could have possibly crossed his son's mind to sour his mood so suddenly. It seemed as though Rhaenyra, sensing his distress, tried to grab his attention by interjecting into their conversation. Still, Aenar, lost in his own world, barely paid attention to anything around him. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the walls surrounding them, as if he couldn't believe that they were there.
It didn't take long, and they were all led to their chambers. As they walked through the winding corridors of the castle, their footsteps echoing against the stone walls, they finally arrived at Aenar's bedchamber. The Servant brought them to a halt in front of a closed wooden door adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to tell a story of their own. The door's aged wood was polished to a shine, and the brass doorknob gleamed in the sunlight.
"This is your bedchamber, my lord!" The Servant said with a respectful tone as she pointed towards the beautifully crafted wooden door adorned with intricate carvings before them. Aenar stepped towards the door as he grabbed the silver doorknob, and twisted it gently. With a soft creaking sound, the door swung open, revealing an opulent and grandiose chamber that was fit for a king. The room was adorned with rich tapestries that depicted the glorious history of the Stark family, and the walls were painted with intricate murals that showcased the beauty of the North.
As Aenar stepped into the room, he had to admit that he liked the room. The bed, with its crisp white sheets and fluffy pillows, looked like the perfect spot for a lazy afternoon nap. The wood in the fireplace crackled and sparked, casting a warm glow over the entire chamber. The gray carpet underfoot was soft and plush, almost like walking on clouds. But what really caught Aenar's attention was the towering bookshelf that dominated one of the walls. It was crammed with books of all shapes and sizes, their spines worn and well-loved.
As Prince Aenar walked into his bedchamber, he could feel the weight of the upcoming feast resting on his shoulders. He knew that Lord Stark was a man of high standards and impeccable taste and his grandfather, and he wanted to ensure that his own attire and demeanor were equally impressive.
With a sense of purpose, he stripped off his travel-worn garments and stepped into the steaming bath that had been prepared for him. As he luxuriated in the warm water, he felt his cares and worries melting away, replaced by a growing sense of confidence and anticipation. After thoroughly scrubbing and grooming, he emerged from the bath feeling refreshed and renewed. Taking his time to select the finest garments from his wardrobe, he dressed with care, each piece chosen to reflect his status and his personality.
Aenar knew he was still too young to actually spar with anyone, so he wouldn't need to show his worth as a warrior yet; the wedding would be two days later, and the Royal Family would leave the next day and return back to King's Landing.
Aenar knew the feast would be seven hours later, and he had time to explore Winterfell; As he sat on his luxurious bed, his back comfortably resting against the warm and inviting castle wall, Aenar's thoughts drifted away to the memories of the past.
' As Aenar's eyes looked around the grey walls of his chamber, the cold air hit his face, and he inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. The memories of his old life came flooding back to him, reminding him of the days when he used to live in this very castle. The sound of footsteps echoing through the halls, the flickering of torches casting shadows on the walls, and the overwhelming sense of nostalgia made every moment feel like a journey back in time.
Aenar felt a warm sensation envelop him as he remembered the sweet sound of his sister's voice calling out to him in the early morning hours. It was a call that he had grown accustomed to over the years, a call that he eagerly awaited each morning, for he knew that when he opened his eyes, he would be greeted with the sight of his beloved sister, Arya, standing before him, her bright eyes shining with excitement and her smile lighting up the room. Together, they would play and laugh, forgetting all their worries and cares, until the sun rose high in the sky and it was time for them to break their fast. And even then, as they sat down to eat, he would remember every moment of their playtime, every word that had been spoken, every laugh that had been shared.
As Aenar's thoughts drifted back in time, he couldn't help but remember the events that led to the gruesome fate of his dear friend and brother, Robb. The memory was vivid in his mind of how Robb's head was chopped off and replaced with that of his direwolf's head before being paraded around by the cruel House Freys as a warning to those who dared to defy their rule, all while they shouted, "The King in The North."
Despite the time that had passed since that fateful day, Aenar's heart still ached with the loss of his brother. The memory of the brutal and senseless act haunted him, and he often found himself lost in thought, wondering what could have been done differently to save his friend. Aenar, Dany, and Rhaenys had burned House Frey to the ground with their three dragons until nothing of the castle was left, and every single person with the name Frey was burned alive.
Arya, Robb, Sansa, Rickon, Benjen, and Bran, Aenar remembered the names of House Stark he still loved to this day, Aenar's relationship with Lord Stark had never been the same after he found out the truth, but he still valued him as his uncle and as his blood for taking him to his home, and raising him with the rest of his Family.
Aenar slowly extended his hand and pressed it against the rough, warm surface of Winterfell's stone wall. As his fingers grazed the rough texture of the grey wall, he couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness wash over him. He carefully slid his hand down the wall, feeling the subtle imperfections and grooves of the stone beneath his fingertips until he reached a Stark sigil that was meticulously carved into the Wall. The intricate details of the sigil were mesmerizing, and Aenar found himself lost in thought as he traced the curves and lines with his finger.
As Aenar stood alone in his chamber, a flood of emotions overtook him, and he found himself choking back a sob. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, his heart pounding with such intensity that he feared it might burst through his chest. With trembling hands, he reached out and grasped the windowsill, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. Slowly, he lifted his head and opened his eyes, gazing out at the courtyard of Winterfell beyond the closed window.
But as his eyes scanned the area, he suddenly saw something that made him freeze in terror. A bone-chilling shiver ran down his spine, and his entire body felt as though it was being engulfed by an icy wind. It was then that he saw it: the courtyard was ablaze with blue flames that seemed to lick at his skin like thousands of fiery needles. Aenar could feel the searing heat of the flames as they danced and flickered all around him, threatening to consume him in their fiery embrace. And then, as if rising from the very depths of hell itself, he saw him: The Night King, with his piercing blue eyes and his icy stare, seemed to be staring right back at him as if daring him to make a move.
The Night King was back... Aenar struggled to gasp for air as he fought to stay conscious. With every passing moment, his breath became more labored until it felt as though it was stuck in his throat. The frigid air around him seemed to seep into his skin, causing his entire body to shiver uncontrollably. But as the cold deepened, Aenar's skin began to burn with intense heat, as if he were being cooked from the inside out. Despite his valiant efforts, he found himself completely immobilized, unable to even lift a finger.
The frigid winds howled through Winterfell as the Night King pulled out his ice spear. With his piercing blue eyes fixed on his prey, he aimed it at the majestic creature Araxes and Rhaenys, who were soaring through the dark sky, her wings beating against the biting cold. Aenar, who was watching from the ground, was filled with dread as he saw the Night King readying his weapon. He tried to scream a warning, but the terror had rendered him speechless. In a swift motion, the Night King hurled the ice spear at Araxes, and the world seemed to stand still as the spear struck the flying beast.
The dragon let out an ear-splitting shriek of agony that echoed through the darkness of the night, causing the very ground beneath him to tremble in response. The sharp sound of his pain was accompanied by a gory sight of blood that exploded from his wound, coating his scales and dribbling out from his mouth and chest. The thick, crimson liquid poured out like a waterfall, free-falling through the air before smashing against one of the many towers of Winterfell, leaving a gruesome stain against the stone surface.
Aenar hadn't noticed that he had fallen on his knees until a hand started shaking his body violently; Aenar turned around only to see Arya looking back at him, she was smiling innocently at him, but Aenar didn't smile back.
Arya stood before him, her petite frame stoic and unflinching, but her once warm complexion now resembled the freshly fallen snow, a stark and unsettling contrast to the room's darkness. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a deep and jagged gash on her neck, which appeared to be the source of the blood that continued to pour forth from her wound, the metallic scent filling the air and turning her previously vibrant clothing a deep shade of crimson. Yet she kept smiling innocently; As the crimson droplets escaped from her wounded body, they descended towards the hard, unyielding surface of the stone floor. Upon impact, the blood transformed into miniature pools, the warmth of her life essence quickly dissipating into the cold, unfeeling stone. The once-ruby red droplets solidified in a matter of seconds, freezing into a glacial shade of blue. '
"AENAR." causing him to gasp loudly and sit up in bed. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, his eyes frantically scanning the room for any signs of danger. It was only when he caught sight of Laena's concerned expression that he realized he had been dreaming; cold sweat began to roll down his cheek, each drop feeling like a heavy burden that threatened to engulf him. He could feel his heart pounding against his chest as if it was trying to break free from its confines, and he wondered how it was even possible that the entire room wasn't shaking from the sheer force of his heartbeat. The world around him seemed to blur into a hazy fog, with his thoughts jumbled and his breaths coming in short gasps.
Aenar inhaled deeply before rubbing his eyes and forcing himself to sit up; Aenar avoided looking at Laena, who sat beside him, before placing her warm hand on his cold cheek for support; Aenar felt a bolt of electricity from her touch, the warmth of her hand spreading through his entire body like a warm blanket. He leaned into her hand, already feeling better, and let out a deep sigh of relief. He couldn't help but feel grateful for her presence, for her unwavering support, and for the comfort that came with her touch.
Laena didn't question what he was dreaming about it, knowing Aenar would tell her if he wanted. After a few minutes, the only sound that filled the air was the sound of Aenar's deep, steady breaths. Aenar's racing heart finally began to slow down, and he let out a deep, shuddering breath of relief. As he slowly regained his composure, Aenar turned his head towards Laena, whose expression was filled with concern and worry.
Looking at her, a wave of confusion suddenly struck Aenar, and he stammered out the question that was on his mind: "W-why are you here?" His voice was barely above a whisper, and his eyes flickered nervously between Laena's face and the floor beneath his feet as if he was afraid to meet her gaze.
"I wanted to look around Winterfell, and I wanted to explore with you. When I entered your bedchamber, you were sleeping, but your body was moving around, and you were freezing. You didn't wake up until I screamed at you," Laena explained with a scared voice, still remembering his body shaking around as if a dark soul had possessed him.
As Aenar stood there, his gaze was fixed upon his open palms, and he felt a shiver run down his spine. Even after countless washes, he could still feel the sticky residue of Arya's dried blood staining his skin and haunting his thoughts. It was as if the crimson fluid had seeped deep into his very soul, leaving an indelible mark that would never wash away completely, no matter how hard he tried. The memories of that fateful day flooded back into his mind, and he was filled with a sense of regret and sorrow that he could not shake.
Aenar's mind was clouded with the remnants of the nightmare that had just passed, yet he knew that it was just another one of those bad dreams that invaded his peaceful slumber from time to time. As he looked up at Laena, his eyes met hers, and he could see the concern etched on her face. In an effort to comfort her, Aenar offered a reassuring smile, hoping that it would be enough to ease her worries for him. However, Laena's anxiety still lingered, and Aenar knew that he needed to do something more to help her. With a deep breath, he pushed aside the memories of the bad dream and rose from the bed. Turning to face Laena, he extended his hand to her.
"How about we explore now? I want to see Winterfell. Dragonstone and King's Landing had gotten a little boring." Aenar said with an uplifting voice; Laena accepted his hand before they left his chamber.
"If you desperately want to explore a new castle, perhaps you can come to Driftmak sometimes. It's a beautiful place. You can look at the sea from your chamber. There's nothing better than hearing the sound of waves from your bedroom." Laena offered with a smile towards Aenar; The idea of waking up to the soothing sounds of the waves crashing against the shoreline every morning was simply irresistible. Despite that, he had never been to Driftmark, but he didn't doubt it was a beautiful castle.
"I would love to, Laena," he said with a smile. "Perhaps my parents can agree to visit soon after this wedding." As he spoke, his eyes sparkled with excitement at the thought of spending more time with her. Laena's face lit up with joy at his words, and she couldn't help but feel grateful for having such a good friend.
As they ventured through the winding halls and spacious courtyards of Winterfell, Prince Aenar and Lady Laena, accompanied by the Kingsguard Ser Ryam, eagerly sought to uncover every hidden nook and cranny of the ancient fortress. From the towering walls that loomed over them to the old chambers of Winterfell, the trio's insatiable curiosity led them to wander far and wide, taking in all the sights and sounds of the storied castle that had stood for centuries as a bastion of Northern strength and resilience.
It didn't take long for Princess Rhaenyra to find them along with Ser Harrold Westerling, who couldn't help but chuckle with a smile on his face; seeing the three kids together always managed to bring him joy. He had always been fond of them and their innocent shenanigans, and seeing them together always managed to bring him immense joy that he couldn't contain within himself.
As Aenar, Rhaenyra, and Laena walked around Winterfell, they caught the alluring aroma of freshly baked cakes wafting through the air. The tantalizing scent was too tempting for Laena, who had an insatiable sweet tooth and just couldn't resist the temptation of a delicious confection. With their mouths watering and their stomachs growling, the trio quickly hatched a daring plan to sneak into the nearby bakery and make off with some of the delectable treats.
Ryam, couldn't help but shake his head in disbelief at the audacity of Princess Rhaenyra, known for her stealthy ways, as she masterfully snatched three of the most delectable cheesecakes from the dessert platter right under the noses of the oblivious servants. Despite his disapproval, Ryam couldn't help but be amused by the Princess's daring feat of thievery, a skill she always had. However, Ryam's admiration was short-lived as he caught sight of the young Prince Aenar. Much to Ryam's relief and pride, the young Prince left behind a glimmering silver coin on the now-empty platter.
For the following two hours, Aenar, Laena, and Rhaenyra explored Winterfell; it mainly was Aenar guiding them, showing them beautiful sights, something Laena found a bit odd but decided to ignore for now. As they approached the entrance to the Crypts of Winterfell, the air grew colder, and the weight of history seemed to bear down upon them. Nyra, eager to explore the ancient and mysterious tombs, stepped forward to order the kingsguards to open the heavy door of Ironwood that stood in their way. But before she could even speak, Aenar's hand shot out to stop her, his eyes flashing with a warning that only those with Stark blood could enter the Crypts.
"But, Aenar, you have Stark blood." Nyra quickly pointed out, Aenar usually was happy whenever Rhaenyra was quick thinking, but not this time.
"Nyra, I don't want to go inside a sacred place without Lord Stark's permission." Aenar quickly brought up a good enough excuse, almost praising himself for quick thinking, but it seemed Nyra wasn't done yet.
"You're a Prince, and I'm a Princess, Aenar. Why should we need his permission?" Aenar, who was standing beside her, frowned slightly upon hearing her stubbornness. He couldn't help but notice how similar Nyra was to Daenerys, who had the same fiery spirit and determination. However, just as he was about to respond, Laena came to his rescue. Laena noticed the conflict brewing between the two and could tell Aenar didn't want to go inside the crypts of Winterfell.
"Nyra, how about we go to the Training Yard instead? You said you wanted to start training, right?" Laena reminded her with a ghost of a smirk. Nyra's eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect of starting her short-awaited training. She quickly said 'yes' without thinking, almost dragging Aenar away, much to the amusement of the Kingsguards, who were watching them the whole time, their stoic faces cracking into a rare smile at the sight of the young prince and princess's enthusiasm.
As they made their way through the winding halls and staircases of Winterfell, the trio couldn't help but feel the excitement building within them. Finally, they arrived in the grand courtyard, the heart of the castle, where the sound of swords clashing against each other rang through the air like a symphony.
The clash of metal on metal echoed off the walls of the ancient fortress, punctuated by the shouts and grunts of the warriors engaged in combat. The sound of rustling silk and clinking armor echoed as many servants and knights bowed deeply, their faces filled with awe and reverence for the royal children when Prince Aenar was passing through with Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Laena.
Aenar was suddenly jolted from his thoughts by the sound of a loud thud. His attention was immediately drawn to the source of the commotion, where he spotted two men engaged in a fierce sword fight. One of the men was in his early thirties, with a hardened expression etched on his face, while the other was a young man in his early twenties, with a look of determination in his eyes. The clash of their swords echoed through the crowded space, drawing the attention of those nearby.
Aenar watched as the two men circled each other, their blades flashing in the sunlight. Sweat poured down their faces as they fought, their movements quick and precise. Suddenly, the older man whispered something to the younger one, causing him to falter for just a moment. Aenar strained to hear what was said, but the words were lost in the crowd's din. Whatever it was, it was enough to distract the young fighter, allowing the older man to land a devastating punch that sent him crashing to the ground with a resounding thud. The younger man groaned in pain as the older man approached, his sword held menacingly close to his face.
The frigid air whipped around the young warrior's face as he lay sprawled out on the blanket of freshly fallen snow, his face flushed with anger and frustration. He glared up at the older warrior who stood over him, a smug expression etched upon his face as if the victory had been a foregone conclusion. Despite the sting of defeat, the young warrior refused to back down. With a fierce determination burning in his eyes, he slapped away the sword that had been held near his face moments before and rose to his feet, ignoring the sneer that had been directed his way. "That wasn't fair," he shouted.
"If you fight with fair, then you will be the first to die, boy," the man sneered, his eyes glinting dangerously in the sunlight. The young man, however, was not intimidated; he knew that honor and integrity were worth more than winning at any cost. Without a word, he dropped his sword onto the snowy ground and turned to leave; his head held high. As he strode away, the servant moved aside, casting a cautious glance at the young man's back. Despite the man's taunts and insults, the young warrior was determined to stick to his principles, no matter what the cost.
Aenar arched an eyebrow as the man, clad in armor and wielding a longsword, turned to face Aenar, his eyes meeting the young prince's with a hint of amusement.
As he used a napkin to clean his blade, he queried, "You have come to train, nephew?" The man asked; he moved a strand of his dark hair away from his face, revealing a rugged countenance etched with scars and lines of experience. With a friendly smile, he approached Aenar; the latter now knew who he was; this man was reminding him a little of an older Robb, but with dark hair.
As Prince Aenar approached him, his heart was racing with anticipation. The Kingsguards behind him had their hands on their swords, ready to act at a moment's notice. "You must be Uncle Bennard?" Aenar asked, trying to hide his excitement. Bennard's face lit up with a bright smile as he removed his skin gloves, revealing his weathered hands. He extended his hand towards Aenar, who eagerly shook it. The Kingsguards behind them eased up a bit.
"One and only, Little Nephew. No one can ever miss a face as handsome as mine." Bennard said with a smile, shaking Aenar's hand; as he spoke, his twinkling eyes caught the attention of one of the servants nearby, causing her cheeks to flush with a deep crimson hue as he playfully winked at her before she scurried away.
"It's good to meet you. Muna has talked a lot about you," Aenar said respectfully and with a hint of humor, shaking his uncle's hand.
"Only good things, I hope," Bennard said with a chuckle, his eyes crinkling with amusement. Aenar couldn't help but grin in response; he quickly introduced Rhaenyra and Laena to him; Bennard was intrigued to see Laena carrying a short sword around.
Bennard's stocky build was immediately apparent; his broad shoulders and thick arms rippled with muscle under his white cloak and surcoat.
His piercing, very dark-grey eyes scanned the area with a sharpness that made even the bravest of men shiver. Thick, dark-brown hair cascaded down his back, giving him a wild and untamed look. Despite his imposing appearance, Bennard was known for his speed and agility.
He moved with the grace of a panther, his feet barely making a sound as he approached. He had a small beard that went from ear to ear, adding to his rugged and masculine appearance. His hands seemed quite large, with long dark hair, a testament to the hard work he had put into his training. Bennard's attire was that of a seasoned warrior, with a white cloak and surcoat draped over his chainmail armor. His longsword was strapped to his waist, ready for action at a moment's notice. His oak shield, decorated with a direwolf's head, hung on his back, symbolizing his strength and courage.
"Of course, besides doing pranks all around Winterfell," Aenar added with a cheeky smile; Bennard couldn't help but laugh heartily, his hand running through his long hair that cascaded down to his neck.
"Let me tell you something, nephew. There's a thrill in taking risks. Nothing gets your blood pumping as fast as the risk of being caught or losing." His voice took on a slightly deeper tone as he continued to evaluate the two Kingsguard, wondering if they were truly capable of protecting his beloved nephew. As Bennard spoke, his eyes flicked back and forth between the two guards, searching for any signs of weakness or hesitation.
"I saw you're good with the sword, Uncle," Aenar said, pointing at the longsword strapped into Bennard's waist.
"That was nothing. Just my son who needed a good lesson, nephew." Bennard brushed off the compliment as if it were a mere trifle.
"How does it feel to be in Winterfell?" Bennard asked, changing the subject from him to Aenar before sitting on the top of a half-chopped small trunk, his hands resting on his knees.
After thirty minutes of talking, Bennard was pleased to hear that his nephew was finding Winterfell to his liking and that the place wasn't cold, even though he had never been this far North before. Princess Rhaenyra quickly asked if he had ever been to the Wall and if he had ever seen Giants.
"I have been to the wall. The tales give it no Justice to how magnificent it is. I have never seen giants, but I have seen Wildlings," Bennard said, noticing the way his nephew's body stiffened when the wall was brought up.
"You have seen Wildlings. Where?" Lady Laena asked with a hint of skepticism in her voice.
"In a trunk like this one I'm sitting in, they love to put their necks on it before taking a quick departure to their holiday," Bennard explained; Lady Laena and Princess Rhaenyra looked confused, but his nephew simply rolled his eyes; Bennard briefly wondered if Prince Daemon had already shown him how it was done but quickly dismissed that thought for now as he turned his head to face his nephew.
"Perhaps you can meet my children, nephew. They're good kids, especially Elric. It is his dream to become a Kingsguard," Bennard suggested, looking up at Winterfell.
"Sure, I would love to," Aenar accepted with a little shrug; As Bennard was about to utter some more words, a faint sound of wings flapping caught their attention. The sound grew louder and more distinct with each passing moment, causing them to crane their necks upwards towards the clear blue sky.
To their amazement, a magnificent creature with shimmering scales and fiery eyes emerged from the distance, soaring through the air with effortless grace. It was Dreamfyre, and atop her back sat Gael. As they watched in awe, the dragon drew closer and closer until they could feel the heat of her breath and the rush of her powerful wings.
Bennard's eyes widened with awe as he watched the majestic creature descend from the skies, its massive wings beating against the frigid air. "Here, she comes," he spoke, his voice laced with a tinge of admiration. It wasn't the first time he had seen a dragon landing near Winterfell, but each time he witnessed the spectacle, it never failed to leave him breathless.
As the dragon gracefully touched down the snowy terrain, Aenar stood transfixed, his gaze fixed on the creature's magnificent form. Its scales shimmered like diamonds in the pale winter sunlight.
Gael quickly dismounted her beloved dragon, her feet landing softly on the snowy ground below. Dreamfyre let out a contented purr as Gael caressed the bottom of her jaw, reveling in the feeling of her scales under her fingertips. Unlike other dragons, Dreamfyre loved when her rider showed her affection, relishing the bond they shared.
Soon Gael entered Winterfell after making sure Dreamfyre was comfortable with the other six Dragons. As soon as she entered Winterfell, she was greeted by Baelon, Aenar, Nyra, and Lady Laena.
"Aunt!" With a big smile on her face, she saw them running towards her at full speed. Gael's heart swelled with joy as she opened up her arms, ready to embrace them. The two children leaped into her arms, giggling and squeezing her tightly. Gael's heart was filled with warmth and love for these two little angels. However, as they hugged her, their weight caused Gael to stumble backward and fall on the snowy ground. Despite the sudden fall, Gael couldn't help but laugh along with the children, feeling grateful for this precious moment with them.
"Oh my sweethearts, you have grown so much," Gael spoke softly, kissing their cheeks lovingly; Aenar blushed and looked away, feeling slightly embarrassed by the attention, but Gael couldn't help but giggle at his reaction before planting a kiss on the top of his head.
As Gael was about to say goodbye, Nyra's big, pleading puppy eyes caught her attention. She begged Gael to take them riding on Dreamfyre, their beloved dragon, with her. Gael couldn't resist Nyra's adorable face and laughed before kissing her cheeks.
"How about tomorrow in the morrow," Gael suggested; they both cheered together, punching the air in celebration; Gael smiled in amusement before walking up to Lady Laena, who straightened herself up.
"Princess Gael, it's good to see you," Laena spoke with a charming smile that could light up the room. Gael returned the gesture with a soft smile, taking a step closer to the little girl, her hand reaching out to tug Laena's rosy cheek affectionately. However, much to Laena's annoyance, she tried to move her hand away, not wanting to be treated as a mere child in front of the princess. Despite Laena's resistance, Gael couldn't help but feel a fondness for the young girl, admiring her spunky spirit and fierce independence.
"You're even more beautiful, Lady Laena," Gael said warmly before turning her attention to her brother, wasting no time to share a hug.
"It's good to see you, Gael," Baelon japed with a smile towards his sister, his eyes sparkling with warmth. "I thought you forgot about us," he added with a chuckle, feeling a cold wind breeze past them. Even though the wind was chilly, the warmth of their embrace and the joy of their reunion made it feel like a warm summer day.
"How is everyone, Baelon?" Gael questioned; she had seen all the dragons were present when she had reached Winterfell while riding Dreamfyre; she knew Daemon and Lyanna had come since Aenar was here.
"Everyone's alright, Gael, but Father wants to speak with you," Prince Baelon told her with a weary sigh; Princess Gael pressed her lips into a thin line, knowing her father was probably not happy that she hadn't been present when he had arrived, but something told her that this was more important than just that.
"Well, lead the way," Gael spoke with a nervous smile; Baelon offered his arm to her, and she quickly took it with a smile as they walked inside, followed by Aenar, Rhaenyra, Laena, and the Two Kingsguards.
Aenar suddenly felt a soft and gentle touch on his cheek. With a sense of surprise, he looked up to the sky, and there he saw a white and delicate snowflake fluttering down from the heavens, slowly twirling in the chilly breeze before gently landing on the tip of his nose. As he felt the coldness of the snowflake melting on his skin, he suddenly felt something, like a presence on the back of his head; he hadn't felt it since... Aenar quickly closed his eyes.
Aenar could see through his eyes, he was walking silently somewhere in the snow, his legs and fur as white as he remembered, but Aenar knew who this one was; a bright smile spread on his face, his body feeling with joy, his eyes welling up with tears, knowing he wasn't the only one.
Let me know in the comments what you think about the Chapter. I hope you have a Wonderful Day.
Comments
Eva Cole
can't wait to see ghost enter the picture hopefully. Really enjoying seeing gael happy (and why would she want to see the king? barley any of his kids liked him)
freddie
Question, are the character appearances, show or book?
