Chapter XXV
Jon
As the ship thudded against the dock and those on land went about the task of securing it, Jon couldn't help but think back to when he'd first made the journey to Dragonstone from Winterfell.
He'd been a King then, named so by those for his victory against Ramsey Bolton in what had been dubbed 'The Battle of the Bastards'.
It was here that he'd first been introduced to Daenerys, that his life had irrevocably changed over the next few moons he'd been here.
As ever, the woman who would one day become his wife had been stubborn and all but offended by the title bestowed upon him.
Eventually, the two of them had found common ground and even fell in love.
From then on, however, things had only steadily gotten worse until there had been nothing left but death and days, weeks, and moons of solitude for the lonesome Jon Snow.
"What's wrong?" Ashara asked, pulling him from his thoughts.
Jon shook his head.
"Nothing," he answered, offering the woman a smile. "It's more imposing than I expected."
Ashara nodded.
"You get used to it."
"Aye, I expect I will."
Jon was the last to step off the ship to see Rhaegar and Elia being greeted by an eager child who could only be Rhaenys.
Although she had the delicate Targaryen features, and even the lilac eyes, she had the darker skin and hair of her mother.
Jon watched how happy the trio were to be reunited and smiled at their interaction.
It made him think of his own reunions over the years: seeing Arya for the first time when she'd returned to Winterfell and even when Daenerys had come for them beyond the wall when they'd needed her most.
He'd even been happy to see Sansa, though that had become a bittersweet memory.
Sansa had wanted nothing more than to be a queen, and despite what she'd endured because of Joffrey, that had never changed.
Still, Jon often thought about them, especially now that it was unlikely the Starks would exist as they had when he'd been a boy. He often wondered if he should've encouraged the match between Ned and Catelyn, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.
He despised the woman, and although it may have been selfish on his part, he chose not to ponder it much.
"And this is Jon Snow."
Jon looked towards the smiling Rhaegar before peering down at the girl he'd ever only heard the fate of, of what Gregor Clegane had done to her.
Rhaenys was looking up at him curiously before she all but shoved a wooden dragon under his nose.
"This is Balerion," she declared happily.
"Well, it is nice to meet you both," Jon returned with a bow.
Rhaenys beamed at him.
"Sometimes, Jaime pretends to be Balerion and chases me around the keep."
"Does he now?" Jon chuckled, looking towards the red-faced Jaime Lannister. "Ser Jaime, I must say, the white armour suits you more than it ever would have me."
"Thank you, Ser Jon," Jaime replied. "I wasn't expecting to see you."
"Aye, visiting Dragonstone wasn't on my list of things to do," Jon replied, "but I suppose life has a way of taking you places you never expect."
Jaime nodded.
"Alright, Lannister, you are dismissed," Lewin interjected. "The princess will be with her mother and father."
Jon didn't miss the look of disappointment from both Jaime and Rhaenys/
The two of them had evidently bonded during their time together.
"I think you and Arthur are the ones who need the rest," he chimed in. "You've been at sea for days and travelling across the kingdom for several moons. I'm sure Ser Jaime is more than happy to fill in for you both whilst you unpack and at least have a wash. You both stink."
Rhaenys snickered and Jon offered her a wink.
"That sounds like a good idea," Elia offered. "It will give us a chance to get to know Ser Jaime a little better."
Both Rhaegar and Rhaella nodded their agreement, and Lewin frowned as he and Arthur were ushered away.
They'd barely taken a few steps before Jaime was standing next to Rhaenys with his hand resting dutifully on the pommel of his sword.
"Will you join us for a light lunch, Jon?" Rhaegar asked. "I will have a steward bring your things to your quarters."
Jon nodded.
"I could eat," he said thoughtfully.
He'd not had much of an appetite whilst on the ship, and now that his feet were once more on dry land, his hunger had returned with a vengeance.
Ned
It was proving to be quite the experience travelling throughout the North.
Ned had seen little of it throughout his life. He'd travelled to White Harbour with his father when he'd been a boy, but he'd begun his fostering in the Vale soon after and had seen much more of that kingdom than the one he was from.
Thus far, they'd visited Castle Cerwyn, where they had stayed with Lord Cerwyn before venturing to Torrhen's Square, Barrowtown, and the Rills, Barbery's childhood home.
Her father had been most accommodating and pleased to see all of them.
They'd spent a week there before moving onto Flint's Finger and the Stoney Shore, and Ned now found himself at sea, travelling past Sea Dragon Point and towards Bear Island.
"They've already started work," Brandon pointed out.
"Are we stopping?" Ned asked.
His brother had insisted on stopping by every settlement they came to, determined to learn every nook and cranny of the lands he would oversee.
Brandon shook his head.
"No, it's best if we let them work. We can visit when it is finished."
Ned nodded.
He was enjoying his time visiting the various keeps and villages of the North, and he was reconnecting with his older brother.
Both had been fostered away from home, and if truth be told, Brandon had become something of a stranger in the intervening years.
He could still be as hot-headed as Ned remembered, but he was more measured now and enjoying married life with Barbery.
She seemed to temper his more impulsive nature, and the more time Ned spent with the man, the more he reminded him of their father.
It was being on the road that he realised more that he was becoming ready to settle into his own life. Moat Cailin was almost finished, and all Ned needed now was a wife of his own.
He wanted what Brandon shared with Barbery; the closeness and companionship, and someone he could rely on.
Where he would find such a woman, he wasn't sure.
Most girls of the North were either considerably younger than him, too old, or already married.
Still, he would find someone to share his life with, even if it wasn't in the coming moons he would spend travelling across the vast lands he belonged to.
"We should be there in a few hours," Brandon announced. "The winds are favourable, brother."
"Aye, they are," Ned agreed, wondering what hospitality awaited them with Lord Mormont.
Robert
It was the first time in as long as he could remember that he'd woken up without being plagued by the inevitable headache and parched throat a night of drinking copious amounts of wine would bring.
Robert had remained sober the previous day, and though it had not been easy, the reflection of his bleary-eyed and rotund self was more than enough to deter him from drinking.
Instead, he had remained alone in his room, feeling sorry for himself for the most part but not indulging in his cups.
He'd poured what remained from the jugs out of the window and had sent for water.
Robert was determined that it would be the only liquid to pass his lips from now on.
Even at feasts or on a hunt, he would not waver from the path of sobriety.
Although he felt the effects of not having the wine, he felt good about the decision he'd made, and with that in mind, he readied himself for the day ahead by attempting to find something comfortable in which he could train.
It wasn't easy, but he managed to put together a suitable outfit of a tunic, trousers and boots before taking leave of his room and heading for the yard.
He arrived to find it busy with both Stannis and Renly in attendance, the former shooting him a mild look of surprise as he approached.
"It isn't past lunchtime yet," Stannis commented. "This is much too early for you, brother."
Robert grunted amusedly in response.
"Are you just going to stand there, or are you getting your sword?" he asked.
Stannis complied with a nod, and Renly clapped enthusiastically.
Robert had not been around when the boy was born, but he was no longer a babe, nor was he a toddler.
"Where is your sword?" Robert asked.
"Stannis says I'm too young to have one."
Robert frowned.
"Stand up, boy," he instructed.
Renly did so with a look of confusion, and Robert nodded.
"If you're old enough to stand on your own two feet, you're old enough to train. Fetch a wooden sword from the rack and see the master-at-arms. Your training starts today."
Renly nodded excitedly, though Robert suspected he would not be feeling so joyful come nightfall. His tiny muscles would be tired, and by the morning, he'd barely be able to raise his arms.
It brought a smile to his lips.
He remembered the soreness from training, and if he were right, he would be feeling much the same as his brother.
It had been too long.
"I must say, I am surprised to see you training," Stannis commented as he returned.
Robert nodded before retrieving one of his training hammers.
It was much lighter and smaller than his own.
As much as Stannis irritated him, it would not do to become a kinslayer for the sake of wielding his very best weapon.
There wasn't plate armour strong enough to absorb a blow from his own hammer.
It brought a smile to his lips.
Maybe one day, he would put it to its intended use.
Until then, Robert would be content with just getting back to what he'd been before he'd lost himself to wine and women.
He needed neither to swing his hammer and as he turned back towards Stannis, he saw something of the admiration in his brother's eyes that had once been there.
"Come on, Stannis, let me see what you have learned since I've been away."
Rhaegar
It was good to be home.
To be within the walls of his own keep and sharing a meal in the intimate, family dining room was all Rhaegar needed to breathe a sigh of relief.
For the past moons that he'd been away, he'd had to play every part of the Crown Prince, of the man who would one day replace his father as king.
For the most part, the journey across multiple kingdoms had gone off without a hitch, but Rhaegar could not be happier to once more find himself on Dragonstone.
The island had become his haven over the years, an escape from his duties and of his unpredictable father.
To have his mother, sister, wife, daughter, and son with him only made it better.
With Jon, Ashara, and Lyanna having joined them, the small room was quite full, but Rhaegar didn't mind.
He was surrounded by good people and those he could be himself around.
"Ser Jaime, how are you finding Dragonstone?" he asked the young man.
"I admit, Your Grace, I found it rather strange when I first arrived, but Princess Rhaenys has kept me more than busy and has been most welcoming."
"I do hope Rhaenys has been behaving herself," Elia chimed in, shooting their daughter a playful glare.
Rhaenys stuck her tongue out at her mother in response.
"Your Grace, Princess Rhaenys has been the highlight of my time here," Jaime answered sincerely.
He truly meant what he'd said, and Rhaegar offered him a smile.
He didn't know the young man well but had met him a few times over the years at various tournaments.
"Father, you're not going to send Jaime away, are you?" Rhaenys asked worriedly.
"Send him away?"
Rhaenys nodded sadly.
"Ser Arthur and Uncle Lewin are here now."
"So is your grandmother, and we have both Aegon and Daenerys," Rhaegar pointed out. "I think, if Ser Jaime would like to, it would be most useful to keep him with us for a while, at least."
Rhaenys beamed at the news, and even Jaime seemed to relax.
Rhaegar couldn't fathom sending the young Kingsguard away not to serve under his father, and Rhaenys had evidently taken to him.
She was comfortable enough to throw her arms around Jaime in happiness.
He cautiously returned the gesture and offered Rhaegar a look of apology.
If Rhaegar was to take offence, he could have him whipped, but Rhaegar did not wish to be a tyrant, and he saw no harm in the closeness they shared.
If anything, he found it to be endearing, and it gave him that little extra faith that Jaime Lannister would protect his daughter with his own life, as was his duty.
"What about you, Jon, how are you finding Dragonstone?" Elia asked.
"It is quiet," the Northerner replied. "I enjoy the quiet."
"Then what in the seven hells are you doing with Ashara?" Rhaegar snorted.
Jon fought the urge to laugh as the Dornish woman glared at the pair.
"I didn't say a word," Jon defended.
"You didn't have to," Ashara returned evenly.
Rhaegar chuckled, though he couldn't help but notice that Jon was somewhat out of sorts.
He'd not enjoyed the journey on the ship, and Dragonstone wasn't much like anywhere in the North. Maybe he would feel more himself in the coming days when he'd gotten used to being here.
It would be some time before they left the island, after all.
Rickard
He smiled sadly as he placed the letter he'd received in the drawer of his desk. Life was often cruel but had been exceptionally so to one of his closest friends whom Rickard had not seen in more than a year.
"What is it?" Lyarra asked.
"Martin has decided to continue his travels with Jory. I was hoping he'd be back by now."
"He'll come back," Lyarra reassured him. "Things have been hard for them both since…well, you know."
Rickard nodded.
Martin had lost his wife during childbirth and their son couldn't be saved, making it three children the man had grieved for. Jory was only a boy, and Martin had left Winterfell with him what felt to be so many moons prior.
Rickard just wished his friend would find whatever peace he could, wherever he found himself, though as saddening as the letter was, he was more distracted by the one he'd received from Tywin Lannister a few days past.
To Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North,
I hope my missive reaches you well and that you do not find me to presumptuous, but as you are reading this, I will be journeying to your home so that we may discuss many matters of importance to us both.
I bring only a small party of fifty men as my escort, my sister, Genna, daughter, Cersei, and son, Tyrion.
As a gesture of goodwill, I have sent ahead more than enough food to feed the people of Winterfell and my own men upon our arrival for the expected duration of my visit.
My party should be visible from your ramparts around five days after you receive my letter.
I look forward to receiving your hospitality.
Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West.
Rickard was baffled by the man's sudden visit and couldn't help but feel cautious about it.
"You haven't said what you are going to do about Tywin Lannister," Lyarra spoke up.
Rickard released a deep sigh.
"I will treat him as I do any other guest in our home," he replied. "I know his reputation, and I do not believe for one moment it is embellished, but Tywin has done nothing to me, our lands, or our people. I can only see what it is he wishes to discuss before I make any decisions on how to proceed."
Lyarra nodded her agreement.
"What do you think he wants?"
"I don't know, my love," Rickard murmured thoughtfully.
That very question had plagued him since he'd received the letter.
Nonetheless, he had instructed his men at Moat Cailin to allow the Warden of the West passage so long as his party was as small as he'd described.
Rickard would not profess to be comfortable about playing host to Tywin but would afford the man the courtesy of hearing what he had to say.
Perhaps there was some common ground they could find, though the Lord of Winterfell had his doubts.
Tywin
"She's just not the same anymore," Genna said worriedly. "She's just so quiet."
Tywin nodded.
He'd noticed the very same thing about his daughter.
Since Jaime had left, Cersei had been rather subdued. She'd not caused any trouble, nor had she been unpleasant to the maids as she'd once been.
Tywin knew she'd been disappointed that she would not be marrying the prince he'd all but promised her, and she'd let him know it almost every day since the news had broken that Rhaegar was to marry Elia Martell.
Tywin had thought that this was the girl and the woman she would remain: bitter, unpleasant, and so unlike the mother she'd resembled.
Joanna had always been a voice of reason and, more often than not, had managed to temper even Tywin's wrath.
Cersei had adored her mother, and when she'd died, she'd become hateful and proud.
"Fetch her for me, Genna," Tywin requested.
He finished penning the letter he'd been writing and sealed it with the sigil of his house. The proud lion of Lannister was an apt representation of him, and Tywin wore it with the same pride the beast carried itself.
"Come in," he called as a knock sounded at the door only a few moments later.
As expected, it was Cersei who entered, looking as radiant as ever.
For what she could often lack in humility, she made up for in beauty, though to many, it would be a poor substitute.
Even the most beautiful women become victims of the ravages of time as they age, and his daughter would be no different.
Still, there was hope for her yet.
Her past experiences had shaped her, as would the ones yet to come.
"You wished to see me, Father?"
"I did," Tywin replied. "Sit."
Cersei did so and crossed her legs, wearing an expression of curiosity.
"I intend on leaving Casterly Rock for some time to conduct important business. I would like for you to accompany me along with your Aunt Genna."
"And the monster?"
"Tyrion will be coming."
Cersei was not pleased by the revelation, but she knew better than to voice those thoughts.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"Winterfell."
"Winterfell? Why would we go to Winterfell?"
"Because we have an ongoing problem with the Ironborn, and the King would not take kindly to us going to war with them. It is a problem we share with our Northern brethren, and I am hopeful that Lord Stark will be amenable to assisting us. I intend to strike a deal for resources to rebuild our fleet and an alliance of sorts against the Ironborn. You have the benefit of having met some of them during your time at Harrenhal. What did you make of them?"
Cersei frowned at the question and Tywin didn't miss the slight reddening of her cheeks as she pondered the question.
"They are quite uncouth," she answered. "They have terrible table manners, and they drink a lot of ale."
"That is well known," Tywin replied. "What of their character?"
Cersei shrugged.
"They fought well, especially Jon Snow."
"Ah, Snow," Tywin mused aloud. "Quite the reputation for a man who came from nothing."
Cersei nodded, and her cheeks flushed just a little more.
"The Northerners are known for their honour," Tywin continued. "They are courteous and staunch allies to those they trust. I believe we would benefit from such a relationship. It is not lost on me what happened at the end of the tourney. If things had ended differently, we could perhaps have a Northern king sitting on the Iron Throne as we speak. I believe it was Jon Snow who prevented an almost inevitable escalation."
"It was," Cersei confirmed. "The Riverlands, the Vale, and the Stormlands were ready to defend him."
Tywin nodded thoughtfully.
"He inspires loyalty, and loyalty is something we are short of. We have no allies we can rely upon, Cersei. The Crownlands and the Reach will always side with the Crown, and it seems the North has forged some lasting friendships. It would be foolish not to bridge the gap between our lands. We leave in two days."
It had grown steadily colder the further north they'd travelled, but it was not so troubling to the Lion of Casterly Rock, and even Cersei seemed to be intrigued by the lands she had yet to see.
The landscape was certainly different.
The Riverlands were mostly flat and lived up to their name of being home to several waterways, but as they passed through, the trees became thicker, the hills higher, and the winds chillier.
It was when the enormous keep that separated the North from the rest of the kingdoms came into view that Tywin realised just how imposing Moat Cailin was.
He doubted even his own army could hope to make a dent in the fortress, and with well-trained bowmen on the ramparts and the use of the dozens of murder holes dotted across the length and breadth of the walls, thousands would meet their death before they even reached the portcullis.
It was indeed an impressive structure.
It seemed that there was much more to the Northerners than he had been led to believe.
Although it was the largest of the kingdoms by a considerable margin, those from south of the Neck spoke of it as though it was a desolate wasteland inhabited by people scarcely better than the Wildlings beyond the wall.
From what Tywin had seen as he made his way through the land, nothing could be further from the truth.
As with the other kingdoms, there were small fishing villages wherever water could be found, but the keeps here were sophisticated, well-maintained, and made of thick stone.
Little of what the Lord of Casterly Rock saw spoke of the men and women here as simpletons.
Although no other dwelling had measured up to what Moat Cailin had proven to be, the same could not be said for Winterfell.
Likely being the oldest of the keeps in all the Seven Kingdoms at around eight thousand years old, Tywin was deeply impressed by the Stark's ancestral seat.
The towers stood at least one hundred feet tall, and the walls were only a little shorter. Within the towers and upon the inner wall, several men stood, keeping watch, though none showed any signs of hostility as the Lannister party approached, even if the men seemed to be cautious.
Tywin supposed that it was because they rarely received visitors from outside their own kind, save for Rhaegar Targaryen's recent visit.
The Northerners were known for keeping to their own, so this was likely another oddity in such a short amount of time.
"OPEN THE GATES!"
The Northern brogue of the Gate Commander was strong, and his voice commanding, and Tywin offered the man a nod as the instruction was carried out.
Much like Moat Cailin, it was said that Winterfell could be held indefinitely by less than five hundred men, and having seen the castle for himself, Tywin did not doubt it.
The gate opened, and Tywin got his first glimpse into the keep and the thickly built host clad in furs wearing an unreadable expression.
Brandon
Travelling through the various keeps of the North had been something of a revelation for Brandon. Of course, he had spent time during his fostering at some, but to see the lands he would one day oversee in full made him realise the true importance of what his position would be.
Although he wasn't yet the Lord of Winterfell, thus far, wherever the group stopped, he was treated as such, and the honour was not lost on him.
One day, the people would look to him the same way they did his father to lead them through the good times and the winters ahead.
Despite the hospitality he'd received, Brandon had become more determined than ever to prove to them all that he was a worthy successor and that they could rely upon him.
As they docked on Bear Island, they were greeted by Jeor Mormont, who pulled both Brandon and Ned into a tight embrace before kissing the back of Barbery's hand.
"Bread and salt," he declared, and Brandon found a plate of each presented to him. "While you are here, my home is yours, Lord Brandon."
"Thank you, Jeor," Brandon offered in return. "I've been looking forward to seeing Bear Island for the first time. I understand the women here outnumber the men considerably."
Jeor chuckled.
"Aye, but it isn't as fun as it might sound. The she-bears are as ferocious as their namesake, but they are most valued. Speaking of which, I'm sure you remember Maege, my sister."
The woman was not comely, but Brandon would defy anyone to find a finer woman warrior in all of the Seven Kingdoms.
"Lady Maege," he greeted her with a smile.
"Lord Brandon," she replied gruffly. "We are honoured to have you, your wife, and of course, your brother as our guests."
"The honour is truly mine," Brandon offered sincerely. "I look forward to seeing your home."
The woman offered him a toothy grin.
"Come," Jeor urged. "I will show you into the keep and to your rooms."
The Mormont home was less than half the size of Winterfell, but it did not want for anything. In the courtyard, there was a forge for the blacksmith and stables, and the walls were well fortified.
If any found reason to attack the island, they would find it exceedingly difficult to do so, even if they made it to shore.
Brandon knew that the inhabitants here were excellent with a bow, and most ships would be set ablaze before they came close to landing.
Besides, there was little of value here to risk such a venture, making Bear Island one of the safest places in the North, especially now that the Iron Born had not dared to attack them since their last fateful raid.
"This is where you will be staying," Jeor informed Brandon and Barbery as he pushed open the door in one of the upper rooms of the Mormont home. "Your father and Lady Mother stayed in this room during their last visit."
"Thank you, Jeor," Brandon offered sincerely.
The man offered him a smile.
"You're most welcome. Of course, we will feast this evening. I can't make any promises, but I will do my best to ensure the she-bears behave themselves."
Brandon snorted amusedly.
"I think you'd have better luck pissing into the wind."
"Aye, you're not wrong," Jeor chuckled. "If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask, and maybe warn your brother. He remains unmarried, and we men are outnumbered here."
"Poor Ned," Brandon sighed. "I think I'll let him receive the full Bear Island experience for himself. He's a grown man. He can do as he pleases."
Jeor grinned before bidding them farewell and taking his leave.
"Your brother has no idea what he's in for, does he?"
"My dear, I have no idea what he is in for," Brandon replied, keen to see how Ned would handle such attention.
Mance
Having travelled as far south as the inn at the crossroads, he was reluctant to venture further until he knew exactly where he would be able to find Jon Snow.
According to the local gossip, the royal party had departed from Riverrun some time ago and had been heading towards the Vale before they would finish their trip in the Stormlands.
Having consulted a map, he realised that the latter was the most southern of the kingdoms, and he had no intention of making such a journey unless it proved to be necessary.
Fortunately, word quickly spread that the Dragon Prince had returned to his home on the island of Dragonstone.
It was closer than he'd anticipated, only a short journey to Maidenpool. From there, Mance was hopeful he could find passage aboard a ship.
Although his legs were sore from all of the walking, he felt invigorated at the realisation that his journey was coming to an end, and it was a renewed Mance Raider who began the final leg on land towards the coast, full of hope that there may just be a chance that his people would live through what plagued them beyond the wall.
Ned
Bear Island proved to be quite a hospitable place.
Ned had thought that the Umbers enjoyed their ale, but the men and women here would even keep up with the Greatjon if anything he'd seen thus far were anything to go by.
"Shut up," he grumbled as he managed to find his way back to his seat, somehow avoiding being pulled into another dance by one of the women here.
Brandon was grinning knowingly at him, and Ned suspected his brother was well aware of what would happen to him tonight.
"Just enjoy it, brother. It won't be long before you are unable to enjoy the company of more than one woman in a night."
"Are you saying that is what you would like, husband?" Barbery asked, quirking an eyebrow at the older Stark brother.
"No, not me," Brandon denied. "I have all the woman I will ever need. Ned here is the one who needs to find a wife. Maybe you could bag three women from Bear Island."
Ned felt his blood run cold at the thought.
It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the attention he was receiving, but one woman from Bear Island would be more than he could handle as a wife.
"Seven Hells, he's gone pale," Barbery said amusedly. "I'm sure the women here are lovely."
"I would say strong," Ned murmured, rubbing his wrists from where he'd been gripped tightly by one during a particularly lively dance.
"He'd be the bloody wife in that relationship," Brandon guffawed, slapping his knee at his own gag.
Ned shot his brother a glare.
He enjoyed the company of the women here. They were fun and had few inhibitions.
Life could often be short on the island, so most seized what they had with both hands and enjoyed it all from moment to moment.
Still, none had caught his eye in the same way Barbery had Brandon, and Ned was not ashamed to admit that he was a little envious of what the two shared.
For some time now, he'd gotten used to the idea that he would soon be married.
The one problem he faced, however, was that he had no prospective bride.
Perhaps that would change throughout their travels, though he wasn't convinced.
He'd yet to meet someone he felt a strong connection with, but he was hopeful he would.
Both Brandon and his father had, and Ned saw no reason why he wouldn't, in time.
Rhaegar
He shuddered as the icy wind cut deeply into his skin.
Despite his time in the North, Rhaegar had not experienced the cold seep into his soul like this.
Wherever he looked, he was surrounded by only snow, as deep as his knees, and it only seemed to grow deeper still.
Not knowing what to do, he walked with his eyes mostly closed in a bid to prevent them from freezing open.
Why he was here, he didn't know, but he pressed on, forcing each step until he was all but wading through the depths of the storm.
"SNOW!"
The sound startled him, and though he couldn't be sure, he would have sworn on the old gods and the news that a shadowy bird had swooped in front of him.
Perhaps he was seeing things, but the Crown Prince didn't think so.
Still, he kept walking, shuddering as it seemed the blood in his veins was slowly turning to ice.
"Ghost?" he whispered in relief as the large wolf padded towards him.
When the beast came closer, however, Rhaegar recoiled in shock.
Although the wolf was familiar, its blood-red eyes were not as he remembered. Now, they were an amber colour, ablaze in a reptilian appearance that seemed to burn brighter as he stalked through the snow.
"Ghost, no!"
The wolf leapt, but before it reached him, Ghost sprouted wings and flew towards the horizon, where Rhaegar spotted an enormous structure made from ice.
The wall.
He'd seen it some years prior when he'd visited his Uncle Aemon, but he'd not ventured to the top.
His visit was to be kept a secret, and though he'd dyed his hair, there was no way to hide the tell-tale colour of his eyes.
With a frown, he began walking towards the marvellous sight.
It was said that Brandon the Builder had constructed the wall to keep the evils of the world at bay. Whether that was true or not, Rhaegar didn't know, but he'd heard the tales of the Others, of Asor Ahai and his fight against them.
Only a few of the Maesters at the Citadel had written of it, and those who Rhaegar had asked had dismissed the stories as Northern folktales.
Rhaegar wasn't so sure.
Why would a man who'd built the impressive fortress that was Winterfell go to so much trouble to build such a wall without reason?
It made no sense, but Rhaegar had spent enough time pondering such wonders. Now, whilst he was here, he wished to reach the top and look upon the world from such a height.
He couldn't be certain how long he walked for, but by the time he reached the foot of the wall, he was breathing heavily, and his legs felt as though they were on fire from the effort.
Looking up, he couldn't see the top, and as he looked for a ladder, a lift, or a set of stairs, his attention was caught by something of a deep blue.
As he approached, he realised that it was a flower, a Winter Rose, much like the ones he'd seen during his time at Winterfell. Somehow, its roots were frozen into the wall, but the stem and head of the rose had bloomed outside of it.
What did it mean?
Once more, Rhaegar found himself at a loss for the meaning of what he was seeing, and before he could ponder it, the howl of a cut through the eerie silence and it was quickly followed by a roar that rattled his bones.
Looking up, he saw Ghost soaring above him, but this time, he had a reptilian tail, and he released a gout of fire as he flew away into the distance.
"SNOW!"
The screech woke him, and Rhaegar found himself drenched in a cold sweat. His breathing was laboured, and he climbed out of bed to sit in front of the fire.
For some time, he stared into the flames, pondering what the meaning of the dream had been.
It had been years since he'd experienced one so vivid, and as ever, it left him feeling rather melancholic.
"Snow," he murmured, repeating the only word that had been spoken to him.
There had been a lot of Snow, but Ghost had been there too.
Rhaegar could only guess what had happened to the wolf, but the dream had left him feeling confused and a little terrified.
The coldness had been unnatural, as had everything else he'd seen.
For some time, he simply peered into the flames, seeking answers to every question that came to mind, and yet, the more he thought about what he'd seen, the more confused he became.