Dance of The Dragonwolf Chapter 9 (A Past Forgotten) (Patreon)

Early 100 AC - Aenar Targaryen

The sound of Daenerys's voice echoed in Aemon's ears as she stood beside him, her eyes fixed on the grand map of Westeros carved into the Table in Dragonstone. With a finger tracing along the expanse of the map, she turned to Aemon and asked, "Do you think this is the best plan, Aemon?" Her voice was calm yet commanding.

A fire was lit under the table, making all the roads and the name of the castles lighten up with a red glow. Her husband and King seemed to escape his thoughts once he heard her words.

"Yes, Dany, once Rhaenys secures Dorne. We will move to King's Landing and crush House Lannister." Aemon answered as he walked up to her with a smile, he gently cupped her face in his hands, and she felt her heart skip a beat. Dany smiled back as they shared a kiss.

"House Martell might not be happy that my child is the first." Dany reminded him as her hand touched her swollen belly; Aemon kissed the top of her head tenderly, his hand caressing her belly, knowing their child was growing inside.

"What they think is not important to us, they might be her family, but Rhaenys loves us more than she does them." Aemon reminded her. Dany had insisted that Rhaenys sail to Dorne and take a small group of Soldiers with her just in case, but Rhaenys had taken Araxes and flown to Dorne, saying she was a Dragon, not a Fish. She had reassured her and Aemon that she would be fine amongst her own family and that she had Araxes in case something went wrong.

They shared a few more passionate kisses, their affection for one another growing stronger by the second. Despite the frigid weather, they were both warmed by the heat of their love. As a gust of wind sent chills down Dany's spine, Aemon pulled her closer to him, his strong arms wrapped around her petite frame. With a mischievous grin, he whispered in her ear, promising to do everything in his power to keep her warm. Dany couldn't help but blush as she looked up at him, feeling safe and protected in his embrace. As they reluctantly pulled away from one another, Aemon's hands moved to the straps of her dress, knowing exactly how to make her feel even more comfortable in his arms. Meanwhile, Dany's hand explored his muscular chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken under her touch.

"You know Rhaenys has dreamed that my first will be a boy and hers will be a girl. She said our children will rule Westeros after us." Dany spoke with a smile, barely holding herself from moaning. Aemon could almost picture it. He could see them playing together in a large green field surrounded by colorful flowers. Suddenly the door opened, revealing Missandie.

"Your Grace, ships from the North."

Suddenly everything stopped; Aemon couldn't help but feel a bone-chilling cold that seemed to seep into his very core. The icy air forced his breath out in visible, misty puffs, and he wrapped his arms around Dany in a futile attempt to preserve any heat left in his body. It was as if thousands of sharp needles were piercing his skin, and he couldn't shake the feeling that his flesh was slowly peeling away from the frigid wind. His body could no longer move, and the room was suddenly filled with snow as his eyes looked at Dany, who was still on his arm, a bright purple smile across her face, her skin as pale as snow.

"No. No." Aemon managed to say. Dany's bright blue eyes looked back at him.

Aenar woke up with a sudden gasp, his heart racing and cold sweat rolling down his face. As he caught his breath, he looked around the dimly lit room with anxious eyes, trying to distinguish the line between his dream and reality. His hands trembled as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, and his mind was still clouded with the vivid images of his nightmare. But as he gazed out the window and saw the City of King's Landing, he slowly came to his senses and remembered where he was. He took comfort in the familiar sights and smells that surrounded him. Despite the lingering fear from his dream, Aenar felt a sense of relief wash over him as he realized he was safe and sound.

As he lay on the bed, his chest heaving with each breath, he could feel his heart racing at an alarming pace as if it was trying to escape from his body. Despite his attempts to calm himself down, his mind was still racing with thoughts that refused to be silenced. Beads of sweat had formed on his forehead and trickled down his face, leaving a cold, clammy sensation in their wake. The sweat continued to stream down his cheeks, leaving a trail of moisture on the bed mattress. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing, but the sound of his heart pounding in his throat was too loud to ignore.

Breathe in and out, breathe in and out, Aenar reminded himself as his breathing was slowly going back to normal. As he slowly lifted his legs over the sturdy bed frame, his toes made contact with the frigid, unyielding surface of the chamber's stone floor, causing an involuntary shudder to course through his entire body. Despite the chill, his eyes were immediately drawn towards the center of the room, where a strikingly beautiful black Oriental carpet lay, its intricate design featuring the unmistakable red sigil of House Targaryen stitched right in its very center. The carpet's rich colors seemed to glow against the cool, dark stone of the chamber, and as he gazed upon it.

A part of Aenar still couldn't believe he was truly back in King's Landing. Many times he caught himself thinking that all this was a beautiful dream he would wake up soon from. He would soon wake up back to that Nightmare.

The vivid memory of Arya's lifeless body flashed before his eyes like lightning, a jolt that shook him to his very core. The pain of her loss was still fresh, and he couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that weighed heavily on his shoulders. He could still feel the warmth of her blood on his hands as he frantically tried to stop the bleeding from the huge gash on her neck and reassured her that she would be fine, even though deep down, he knew it was a lie. Even Lady Stoneheart had cried that night. The one and only time Aenar had seen tears in her cold-dead eyes.

The air was thick with the scent of death and despair as they stood among the ruins of a once-great castle, now reduced to rubble and ash by the brutal and savage war that had ravaged the land. The moon was a pale and sickly glow in the sky, casting eerie shadows across the devastated terrain as Lady Stoneheart knelt beside the fallen body of her daughter, the only reminder of her past life before she was reborn as a vengeful and merciless being. With a heart-wrenching sob, she wept for the loss of her child and the shattered dreams that would never be fulfilled.

As Prince Aenar walked outside to the balcony of his royal chamber, the coldness of the night seeped into his skin. The gentle breeze carried the faint smell of salt and sea, and the sound of the waves crashing against Aegon's Hill, where The Red Keep was built upon, was like music to his ears. Closing his eyes, he let out a deep sigh, taking in the serene moment, feeling the weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifted. As night fell upon the city of King's Landing, the full moon emerged from behind the clouds, casting a mesmerizing silver glow upon the sprawling landscape that surrounded the city. The city's towering buildings seemed to dance in the moonlight as if they were alive and breathing, while the shimmering waters of the Narrow Sea sparkled like a thousand diamonds. The moon's light transformed the city into a mystical wonderland, where every corner and crevice was bathed in an ethereal glow.

Focusing, he could feel Cannibal at the back of his head. His companion was sleeping in the forest near King's Landing, Aenar tried to remember more, but many of his memories were blurry. He remembered only certain parts, but he did remember the cold blue eyes of the Night King looking back at him, colder than anything Aenar had ever felt. A cold shiver went down his spine.

When he had opened his eyes four years ago, he had been sure that he had been dreaming; from all the books about the Dance of the Dragons, none mentioned anything about Prince Daemon marrying a Lady from The North who just happened to have the same name as his real mother.

It had taken almost a year for Aenar to be fully convinced that he wasn't dreaming, and somehow he was born as Prince Aenar of House Targaryen, the son of Daemon Targaryen and Lady Lyanna Stark.

Aenar didn't remember much, but he knew he needed to change the outcome of The Dance. With that knowledge in mind, Aenar knew he needed to change the future and prevent the Dragons from going extinct. Aenar knew he wanted to achieve other goals he knew would be beneficial for House Targaryen. Beneficial for the future. One of them was Conquering Dorne and not allowing them to keep The Titles of Prince and Princess. Aenar was still unsure how he would achieve that, but he would find a way. Cannibal could help him.

Sadly when it came to his knowledge of The Dance, it had been a long time, and his memory was very fuzzy, almost shattered in pieces and scattered away. And He only knew what the Maesters had written, and he knew they weren't the most reliable source of information, especially Archmaester Gyldayn.

Aenar, with a sense of serenity, leaned his hands on the cold stone railings of the grand balcony that overlooked the city of King's Landing, his eyes gazing into every house he could see. As the night began to wane, the first rays of the sun started to emerge from the horizon, casting a golden hue upon the city's skyline. Despite the early hour, the city was already alive with the hustle and bustle of merchants and traders setting up their stalls and the sound of horses' hooves echoing through the streets. Aenar couldn't help but feel a sense of awe as he watched the city come to life with each passing moment.

Aenar walked back inside, remembering he and the royal family would soon ride to Winterfell. His aunt, Gael Targaryen, was to be married to Lord Rickon Stark, the Heir of Winterfell. King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne had approved of the betrothal. Many lords had been obviously displeased by the marriage, especially House Lannister and House Hightower. The King had wanted to send his son instead of going himself, but Queen Alysanne had insisted that she herself would go there. It was her daughter's marriage, and she wouldn't miss it even if it was the last thing she did.

Aenar's mind went to everything that had changed so far. As far as he knew by now, Princess Gael and Queen Alysanne should already be dead, but they were still alive and breathing, not that Aenar had anything against it. Gael reminded Aenar too much of Arya in a good way. She loved to ride her dragon Dreamfyre and would take Nyra and Aenar with her to fly as often as possible.

Queen Alysanne was kind and gentle. Despite the limitations that came with her old age, she made it a priority to spend as much time as possible with her great-grandchildren, sharing stories of her youth and imparting wisdom that only comes with age and experience. Although her aging body often left her fatigued and unable to keep up with the boundless energy of the young children, Aenar, in particular, never tired of visiting his great-grandmother and eagerly awaited their next encounter. Despite the occasional aches and pains that came with old age, Queen Alysanne cherished every moment spent with her beloved great-grandchildren.

King Jaehaerys was still someone Prince Aenar didn't know what to make of yet. The old King looked very reluctant to meet him whenever he talked with Aenar. Whatever was his old age or something else, Aenar didn't know, but the old king would sometimes look at him as if searching for something he couldn't find. Whatever that was, Aenar didn't know. His father had told him that he reminded King Jaehaerys of his first son, Aegon, who only lived three days.

For the last four years, Aenar had spent time enjoying being a child with a loving father and mother. Aenar enjoyed every single moment he had with them, He didn't really remember it, but his father would always say that his first word had been Muna. His father, Daemon, would occasionally show him things he could do, and his mother would often tell him and Nyra tales of the North.

After reaching four name days, he had decided to start learning how to write and read, he knew how to do that, but he needed an excuse. He couldn't just start reading and writing without explanation.

He had asked the maester to teach him how to write and read, but the old maester had disagreed, saying he was still young; Aenar had complained to both of his parents, knowing this would result in either them teaching him or his father threatening the old maester.

It had resulted in both; Prince Daemon had told the Maester that he would feed him to his dragon if he didn't teach Aenar how to write and read. The Maester reluctantly had started teaching Aenar the following day, but that didn't stop Lyanna and Daemon from teaching Aenar important things about life and certain other things.

Aenar's curious eyes darted around as he asked his father, "Father, where are we going?" His father, with a stern yet reassuring look, took Aenar's hand and led him through the winding corridors of Dragonstone, their footsteps echoing off the ancient stones. Aenar's heart raced with anticipation as they approached the Training Yard, where the sounds of clashing swords and grunts of exertion filled the air. With a glint in his eye, Aenar tightened his grip on his father's hand, ready to learn the warrior's ways. Daemon knew Lyanna would kill him if she found out that he was training Aenar when he had proposed to her that he wanted to teach Aenar a few basic things when it comes to wielding a sword, knife, dagger, spear, and shield. She had refused, saying Aenar was still young and needed to enjoy life, before adding that he could wait until Aenar was six name days to start teaching him how to wield a weapon.

With that thought in mind, Daemon had decided to teach his son in secret, but only the basic things, before moving into more complicated things like how to wield a sword.

As Aenar and his father, they witnessed the majestic sight of the sun slowly ascending, peeking over the vast expanse of the sea. The sky was a mesmerizing blend of vibrant hues, with streaks of warm orange and fiery reds, as if the heavens themselves were ablaze. The sun's rays illuminated the endless horizon, casting a warm, welcoming glow upon the world. It was a stunning display of nature's grandeur, and Aenar couldn't help but feel grateful for this moment. As he basked in the beauty of the sunrise, he felt his father's hand rest gently on his shoulder, a silent gesture of love and affection.

As the first rays of the morning sun began to light up the sky, Prince Aenar found himself standing in the courtyard of Dragonstone, surrounded by the bustling activity of the servants who were just beginning their day. Turning to his father, he couldn't help but break the silence that hung between them, his curiosity getting the better of him. "Father, what are we doing here?" he asked, his voice echoing through the courtyard. As he spoke, the servants paused in their tasks, bowing their heads respectfully as the prince and his father passed by.

With a confident stride, Daemon led his eager son through the bustling training yard of the castle, filled with the boisterous sounds of clashing steel and the pungent smell of sweat and leather. As they approached the arsenal of weapons, Prince Daemon claimed, "I will teach you how to wield a sword," his voice resonating with authority and expertise. Aenar's eyes widened in anticipation as they surveyed the multiple barrels that held a vast array of swords, knives, clubs, and shields, each one a testament to the craft and skill of the blacksmiths who forged them.

As Daemon ambled towards the barrel filled with an array of sharp and gleaming knives, he couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement bubbling up within him; teaching his son how to fight was something he found far greater joy than he had thought he would. He perused the collection of knives with keen interest, taking note of their varying shapes and sizes before his eyes eventually landed on one that caught his attention. With nimble fingers, he picked up the knife, feeling the weight of it in his hand as he examined the blade with a discerning eye. Satisfied with his selection, he turned to face Aenar, who was watching him intently with a hint of anticipation etched on his face.

He turned to his young son, who was eagerly watching his every move. With a smile, he handed the blade to his son, who held it gingerly between his little fingers, inspecting it from up close. The father and son stood together in the courtyard, surrounded by the lush greenery of the castle gardens. Daemon's deep voice broke the silence, "What's the first thing you should know about any blade?" His son looked up at him, curious and eager to learn from his father's experience.

Aenar's response to Daemon's inquiry was rather unexpected, yet delivered with a cheeky grin that could make even the most serious person crack a smile - "Stick them with the pointy end." Although Daemon chuckled at the remark, he couldn't help but notice a fleeting glimpse of melancholy in Aenar's eyes as he spoke those words. It was as if there was a hint of sadness behind the mischievous facade like he was hiding a deep pain or a troubling secret that he didn't want to share. He gently planted a soft kiss on his son's forehead, his hand playfully ruffling his hair in a loving gesture. However, the son was not amused and tried to shake his father's hand away, his face contorting in annoyance.

"Good," he said, nodding approvingly, "but the first lesson is how to hold one and how to use it." His son listened intently, eager to learn from his father's expertise. "I want you to move that dagger around your hands until you get comfortable with it," Daemon instructed, his eyes filled with pride as his son moved the blade swiftly around his fingers, not making a single mistake. The sun shone down on them, casting a golden glow on the pair as they trained, the sounds of rustling leaves and birdsong filling the air.

As Aenar looked up at his father with a cheeky grin on his face, his question hung in the air like a thick fog - "Won't mother get angry?" - a question that was both innocent and mischievous at the same time. It was a trait that Aenar had undoubtedly inherited from his father. As Daemon looked down at his son, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride mixed with annoyance, for he knew all too well the trouble that his son's grin could get him into. Viserys loved to tell him that Aenar had taken more after him than Lyanna, something Daemon disagreed with.

With a curious tilt of his head and a raised eyebrow, Daemon leaned in towards his son, who was effortlessly twirling a gleaming dagger between his nimble fingers. "She might if she finds out," he said, his voice laced with a hint of caution. His son's grin didn't falter as he continued his skillful display of knife handling.

"Will she find out?" Daemon asked in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer. The air was thick with anticipation as the two of them locked eyes, each one waiting for the other to make the first move.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Father," Aenar answered with a sly smile, his eyes twinkling mischievously. The way he said it was almost too casual, as if he had something to hide, and Daemon couldn't help but feel a burst of pride in his chest. His son was already showing signs of being a master at deception, a trait that would undoubtedly serve him well in the cutthroat world of politics and power games. Despite being raised amongst family, Daemon knew the danger the Red Keep had everywhere. There were snakes in every corner; Daemon knew sooner or later, he would need to teach Aenar how to avoid showing much emotion in front of the wrong people and learn how to use words. Sometimes words were better than Dragon Fire.

After an hour of teaching, his son was already excellent at moving a knife around his hands. Daemon felt pride for his son. As they walked back inside the castle, Daemon and Aenar heard the loud roar of Cannibal from his cave.

Unlike almost everyone else, Daemon had noticed that his son had not once shown fear of Cannibal. He was always acting as if Cannibal was a puppy rather than a Dragon, big enough to conquer Westeros all by himself.

Aenar remembered the day with a bright smile. His mother had eventually found out about them but hadn't been half as angry as Aenar expected. She had told his father that if they wanted to keep their practice, they could, but no learning on how to wield weapons until six name days.

During the last four years, he often sailed from Dragonstone to King's Landing and vice versa. From what Aenar understood, Cannibal didn't follow anyone and didn't obey anyone so that no one could chain him in the Dragon Pit. The dragon keepers had tried to lead him there by speaking high Valyrian as they did with all the others, but Cannibal had simply flown away, but not too far from where Aenar was. Not once had Cannibal flown back to Dragonstone when Aenar was in King's Landing, something Daemon loved to bring up time and time again.

King Jaehaerys and Grandfather Baelon thought of him as still too young to lead Cannibal to the Dragon Pit. Therefore had tolerated the Dragon not being chained yet. Still, Aenar had heard The King saying that Aenar should be able to lead Cannibal inside the Dragon Pit by the time he was six name days. But Aenar didn't want that. He would never chain Cannibal.

Aenar didn't know why, but he strongly bonded with the black dragon. He had even dreamed of being him. Flying amongst the clouds as a Dragon was an experience he had never felt before.

Thinking of Cannibal, his mind instinctively went to Ghost, his closest friend. The mere thought of his beloved companion brought a bittersweet smile to his face, but it was quickly replaced by a lump in his throat as he recalled the harrowing memory of Ghost's cries of agony when the ice spear pierced deep into his stomach. Red eyes turning into blue eyes, Aenar had felt as if he had been stabbed too at that moment. He had felt the cold spear piercing his stomach, his body turning cold, and the pain bursting around his body like a bolt of lightning.

Aenar felt the same with Cannibal. Despite never knowing him before, he often felt what the black dragon felt, and he knew his friend would never approve of chains. He would most likely destroy the entire Dragon Pit before allowing anyone to chain him inside.

Aenar, with a heavy heart, made his way toward the small yet exquisite vase filled with crystal-clear water that sat soundlessly on the rustic table beside his bed. As he lifted the vase, his eyes traced the intricate designs of the vase. Slowly, he poured the water into a chalice, the droplets of water creating a serene melody as they hit the surface of the cup. With a deep breath, Aenar lifted the cup to his lips, feeling the cool water slide down his parched throat, providing a soothing relief that left him feeling slightly more at ease. Hoping to escape the memories of his painful past, he closed his eyes. He let the refreshing sensation of the water take over his senses, offering a moment of respite from the tumultuous thoughts that plagued his mind. Aenar knew this was a new future. He could change things for the better. For House Targaryen.

Throughout the last four years, he had gotten to know Princess Rhaenyra, Lady Laena, and Lord Laenor.

He and Rhaenyra had quickly become friends, and because of their similar age, it had been very easy. Whenever Aenar was in King's Landing, Rhaenyra would probably be right behind him, chasing him around like a shadow; Laena had visited only thrice. Since she lived in Driftmark, she could rarely visit them, and her mother was The Queen Who Never Was, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. Aenar had seen her only a few times, but he knew the woman was still sour about losing what she thought belonged to her.

Despite being years, Princess Rhaenys didn't really try to hide that She thought and believed that she deserved to be the crown princess instead of Baelon being the Crown Prince. Even Laena had once complained about her mother being annoying.

Aenar wasn't sure if Rhaenys was an ally right now, but he could wait. He knew because of his age and power, there were a few things Aenar knew he couldn't change, but he had decided to start slow.

As the sun began to rise above King's Landing, Aenar's keen senses picked up the sound of powerful flapping wings in the distance. Without a moment's hesitation, he sprinted towards the nearest balcony, his heart pounding with excitement and anticipation. As he emerged onto the balcony, his eyes were met with the breathtaking sight of Cannibal, soaring majestically through the sky above him. Aenar couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and awe wash over him as he watched Cannibal's massive wingspan casting a formidable shadow over the bustling city below. As if Cannibal could feel Aenar was watching him, he let out a magnificent roar.

Aenar smiled brightly at the sight of Cannibal flying over the Red Keep, probably to hunt. For the last four years, he hadn't caused any damage and had yet to attack anyone. Despite that, the King wanted the Dragon put in the Dragon Pit. Saying the dragon was unpredictable and could be dangerous. Aenar didn't want that, imprisoning Cannibal. He felt as if he would chain himself too.

Aenar imagined chaining Ghost. He would never do that. And he didn't want to chain Cannibal.

For the last four years, he had seen the Dragon from up close but never close enough to fly together. Even his father had told him to wait until he was seven name days to ride Cannibal; Aenar felt a smile stretching on his lips whenever he thought of his parents. Their love was something Aenar couldn't get enough of, something he had missed from his previous life.

As Prince Aenar rested in his chamber, his mind was consumed with thoughts of the upcoming wars. Suddenly, he heard a faint sound of small footsteps slowly approaching his chamber, but it wasn't coming from the door. His eyes darted to the secret passage his father had shown him, wondering if someone had discovered it. Prince Aenar's heart raced with anticipation, and he silently crept toward the concealed entrance. As he approached, he noticed a piece of the wall had been moved away, revealing Princess Rhaenyra. Her eyes sparkled in the dim light, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at being caught.

Rhaenyra's silver hair was full of dirt from crawling in tight dusty spaces; Aenar could see her once lustrous silver hair became matted with dirt and dust, with a spider's web delicately woven around the top of her head, her small, nimble hands, which had guided her through the dark and musty places, were now almost black with the grime and filth that clung to them, as were the soles of her shoes, which had trodden through the forgotten corners of the castle.

"R-Rhaenyra, what are you doing here?" Aenar almost exclaimed in bewilderment. His friend simply smiled, not caring about the dirt around her body.

"Play. We didn't finish the game of Aegon The Conqueror from a month ago." Princess Rhaenyra answered with a little smile, with a tone as if the answer was obvious. Prince Aenar sighed. He hadn't thought Rhaenyra to be so dedicated to completing a simple game.

"I understand, but Laena, she is not here. We can't complete the game without her." Aenar answered as he grabbed the vase filled with water before walking up to Rhaenyra, who pouted in annoyance.

"But can we still play only the two of us?" Rhaenyra insisted, her eyes gleaming excitedly as she looked up at Aenar. He smiled down at her, taking her small, dirty hands in his before pouring cool water over them. Rhaenyra shivered as the water trickled down her arms, her mind racing with ideas for their game. Aenar chuckled at her eagerness, gently dropping water into the top of her hair. The cool water felt invigorating against her scalp, and she couldn't help but feel grateful for Aenar's kindness. He was always willing to indulge her whims, no matter how silly they might seem to others, before pouring water into her dirty feet.

"Rhaenyra, I didn't tell you about the secret passage so that you could sneak into my bedchamber to sleep," Aenar said with a deadpan look. Two other nights before, he had woken up with Rhaenyra sleeping in his bed, almost falling from the bed since she moved around a lot when she slept, resulting in her falling flat on her face on the floor.

When he asked, 'why she wasn't sleeping in her bedchamber?' she said that she didn't like sleeping alone and her chamber felt too big for her.

"My mother says there's nothing wrong with that, saying we are both friends and we are cousins." Rhaenyra countered, not seeing the problem. Aenar sighed, knowing there was no way out of this one.

"Alright." Aenar accepted with a weary sigh.

Later

As the golden rays of the sun slowly crept up from the horizon, illuminating the city of King's Landing with a warm glow, Rhaenyra, with a twinkle in her eye, turned to her cousin and asked in a playful tone, "Do you think you will be able to ride Cannibal soon?" Her voice carried on the gentle breeze, mixing with the sounds of the waking city, the clattering of horse hooves, and the chirping of birds.

Lyanna had come to Aenar's bedchamber to wake him up, only to see Rhaenyra sleeping in his bed. After waking them up, Lyanna told Rhaenyra that Aemma was looking for her.

"Maybe. I want to ride Cannibal. I have been on top of Caraxes with my father, but my father always says that riding a dragon all by myself it's different." Aenar explained with a little shrug; Rhaenyra nodded in understanding as she was looking at herself in a small mirror. Their aunt had taken Nyra and Aenar to ride on Dreamfyre. It has been the best experience of her life. She remembered it and couldn't wait to have her own Dragon.

"Aenar, muna says we will soon ride to Winterfell for Aunt Gael's marriage. Do you think Winterfell is cold?" Rhaenyra asked curiously, not noticing the sudden look of sadness on Aenar's face.

His eyes were on the verge of welling up with tears. The last time he could recall, Winterfell had been a place of safety and beauty. But that vision was now tarnished. It was engulfed in blue flames, the dead rising one after the other, all lost to the Night King and Shrykos, who had descended upon the castle with their undead armies. The once-beautiful God's Wood, where he had spent countless hours in peaceful contemplation, was nothing but a charred wasteland. He had seen Ghost and Tormund rising up as dead corpses, their eyes empty and their bodies twisted into grotesque shapes. The sight was almost too much for him to bear, and he could feel the tears starting to form in his eyes.

His breathing rapid. He still could feel her cold breath in his arms, her heart not beating, her purple eyes opening blue. His body shivered when he suddenly felt someone nudging his shoulder, startling him.

"Aenar, are you alright? Should I call Aunt Lyanna?" Rhaenyra asked with a hint of panic, noticing his pale face.

Aenar swallowed a huge breath to calm himself. I'm not there. I'm not there. I'm not there. I'm not him, Aenar repeated in his head repeatedly. Eventually, his body stopped shaking, and his breathing returned to normal. His eyes turned to look at King's Landing through the full-length window of his bedchamber, and beyond the city were endless lands. He remembered the snow everywhere, endless and cold.

Aenar felt Cannibal flying around The Red Keep as if he could feel his rider's fear. Feeling his trustworthy companion nearby gave Aenar a boost of confidence.

"Come, Rhaenyra. Let's see what Aunt Aemma wants." Aenar said, grabbing her hand before leading her outside.

The young prince and princess walked together, followed closely by two Kingsguards who chuckled in amusement at the sight of the young Prince and Princess walking together. Aenar smiled the whole time, a smile of pure happiness. For now, he knew he could be happy. And not think about the problems of the Future.

This might be a new chance, a paradise, or just another Hell, but I will keep moving forward.