A Prince of House Targaryen Chapter 73 (A Direwolf's Blood) (Patreon)

Blood. Blood. Blood. As Rickon inhaled deeply, he noticed an unmistakable scent permeating the air - the distinct odour of blood. It engulfed his nostrils, tasting metallic and strong, much like iron. This was not the first time he had experienced such a sensation. In his vivid dreams of embodying his loyal wolf companion, Shaggy Dog, Rickon would oftentimes conjure this very taste. A particular memory flashed in his mind, where he and the black-furred beast stumbled upon a recently deceased body.

With a sense of despair, Rickon realized that he couldn't identify the unfortunate woman, but he could deduce her unfortunate circumstances from the tattered clothing she wore—a stark testament to her meager existence. However, the true horrors lay in the macabre scene that unfolded before his eyes. The woman's legs bore the weight of three gruesome arrow wounds, painfully puncturing her flesh.

Her once beautiful face was now an unrecognizable mess, ravaged beyond recognition, with only remnants of bite marks as remnants of what she once looked like. The tragedy intensified as Rickon noticed the eerie absence of her right hand; its brutal detachment left an exposed bone jutting out from the wrist. Blood, a vivid crimson hue, coated her lifeless figure, painting a harrowing portrait of her final minutes. The very grass that surrounded her had transformed into a haunting canvas, drenched in crimson, serving as a stark reminder of the brutal end she had met.

Rickon remembered the shocking sensation of blood upon his tongue when his direwolf's primal instincts had urged her to indulge in the feast. But alas, pulling him away from the brink of witnessing such carnage. With a jolt, Rickon had awakened from his slumber, relinquishing the haunting image within his dreamscape.

As his bleary eyes adjusted to the morning light, a dark omen awaited him, perched ominously upon the windowsill—a crow, its beady eyes fixed upon him with an unsettling gaze. The avian harbinger's raucous cry pierced the tranquility of the dawn, echoing through the air before it unfurled its ebony wings and vanished into the boundless expanse of the sky.

Now, Rickon was famished. His stomach growled loudly, aching for sustenance as he prowled through the ground. The sharp claws of his paws grazed the icy ground, leaving behind faint imprints on the white canvas. With each step, Rickon's acute sense of smell picked up a distinct scent in the cold air—it was the unmistakable odor of blood, making his hunger more insistent.

But beyond the scent of blood, a different aroma lingered faintly in the distance. It was a unique fragrance that Rickon recognized immediately. The scent of dragons permeated the air. However, Rickon's instinct told him that caution was necessary; Shaggydog exhibited great fear towards these creatures, particularly the darker dragon with its serpentine form and fiery green flames.

Aware of the potential danger, Rickon resisted the urge to explore further, understanding the risks that lay in confronting these fearsome beings. He wisely chose to heed Shaggydog's instincts, knowing that venturing closer to the dragons could result in disaster.

As Rickon cautiously moved closer to the source of the distinct odor of blood, he couldn't ignore the fact that it seemed even more pungent than the previous night or any other night before. It lingered in the air, intensifying his curiosity and heightening his senses. Despite the darkness that enveloped him on this moonless evening, Rickon's eyes locked onto an open door ahead.

Its outline, barely visible amidst the obscurity, beckoned him to explore further. Straining his sight, he managed to discern a silhouette perched upon the door handle – a crow. Its feathers shimmering ominously in the dim light, the bird gazed back at Rickon with piercing, white eyes.

Rickon, with his heart pounding, felt an excruciatingly intense and abrupt pang shoot through the back of his head. It was as if a searing blaze engulfed his entire skull, causing him searing agony. However, before he could even fully register the pain, it vanished within the blink of an eye as if some mysterious force had dissipated it instantly, leaving him bewildered.

Overwhelmed by the anguish he had endured, Rickon couldn't help but emit a low, plaintive moan, giving voice to his suffering as his gaze turned back towards the peculiar crow perched nearby. A sense of understanding washed over him. The bird released yet another piercing cry that reverberated through the stillness of the night, but this time, its meaning resonated with Rickon.

"Follow Me. Father. Winterfell." After the crow's cry echoed through the air, compellingly urging Rickon to follow, he wasted no time and obediently trailed after it. The avian messenger took off and soared through the sky, guiding Rickon toward his destination. As Rickon ventured further inside, he found himself within the confines of a dimly lit and mysterious room. The darkness enveloped him, making it difficult to discern his surroundings.

However, his keen sense of touch allowed him to distinguish the coldness beneath his feet - evidence that he was now traversing along a narrow corridor. Rickon's footsteps, albeit light and subtle, emitted faint sounds, reverberating through the stillness of the passageway. Yet the floor's chilly surface remained undisturbed, leaving him with an undeniable sensation of icy temperatures seeping into his paws with each step he took.

Rickon cautiously followed the sleek black crow as it led him further down the dimly lit corridor. With each step, the air grew colder, and a sense of foreboding crept over him. Eventually, his determined pursuit brought him to the end of the desolate hallway, where an ancient wooden door stood as the only barrier between him and the outside. Time had weathered this archaic entrance, leaving its mark on the worn wood.

The door appeared as a haunting relic, with its upper half still clinging desperately to the sturdy stone wall while the lower half ominously swayed back and forth, dancing with the gusts of wind that sneaked through unseen cracks. The constant collision between the bottom half and the solid surface emitted a spine-chilling metallic screech that sent shivers down Rickon's spine.

Overwhelmed by a sudden surge of fear, Rickon couldn't help but release a whimper, his apprehension overpowering his curiosity. As he took hesitant steps backward, a nagging sense of unease washed over him, urging him to reconsider his decision to follow the enigmatic crow, as if some deep instinct within him knew that venturing further could lead to danger.

'Never trust strangers,' Rickon remembered his father's words.

Without warning, the crow, with its snow-white eyes fixated on him, made an unexpected reappearance in the midst of the eerie silence. Rickon, terrified by the chilling gaze, struggled to tear his eyes away. He felt a wave of sheer dread course through his entire body, causing an involuntary shudder to convulse him.

Fear began to consume him, his heart pounding in his chest, as he desperately yearned to release a piercing howl, an agonized cry for his siblings to come to his aid. However, just as the primal scream was about to escape his throat, a searing pain abruptly surged through the back of his skull as if a sharp blade had mercilessly impaled his head.

Rickon let out agonizing whimpers of pain; his body wracked with a searing sensation that seemed unbearable. But just as swiftly as the torment engulfed him, it vanished into thin air, leaving Rickon stunned and bewildered. As the excruciating fear and pain dissipated, so did the biting cold that seemed to creep through his every pore.

A surreal sensation washed over him as if the ground beneath him had dissolved, and he hovered weightlessly in the air. In this surreal state, Rickon noticed all traces of coherent thought slip away, his mind becoming a blank slate. The very surroundings that had caused him distress moments ago melted away, transforming into an ethereal void. And then, like a mirage, it materialized before his very eyes – Rickon found himself back at the familiar grounds of his haven, Winterfell.

Rickon's heart brimmed with sheer happiness as he released a euphoric sound of joy echoing through the wintry landscape.

With each bounding step, his feet firmly sank into the pristine, untouched snow, creating small imprints behind him. The reassuring crunch beneath his running shoes reaffirmed his belief that everything had returned to its rightful place – his father had finally returned, filling Rickon's world with unwavering love and security.

Yet, as the wind whistled through the towering pine trees and brushed against his rosy cheeks, a lingering scent of metallic, iron-tinged blood pervaded the air, making Rickon's senses twitch with a perplexing unease. Even though his surroundings appeared entirely ordinary and devoid of any macabre sights, the inexplicable aroma teased his mind.

As Rickon, with a determined sprint, tirelessly dashed through an array of quaint small houses, their exteriors bearing the marks of age and the test of time, he found himself in awe of his surroundings.

The serene solitude interrupted only by the soft crunching of snow beneath his hurried feet, Rickon's determination grew while navigating the wintry landscape. And then, his searching eyes beheld it in all its splendor—the grand courtyard of Winterfell—an emblematic sight that reassured him he had returned to his rightful home.

The overwhelming rush of joy that flooded through him was unparalleled, surpassing even his most treasured memories, as Rickon savored the exquisite relief that embraced his every being.

Rickon experienced an inexplicable swell in his heart as he darted forward with excitement. However, a lingering scent of blood pervaded the air, seemingly at odds with the happiness that Rickon was attempting to embrace.

Despite this disconcerting scent, Rickon made a conscious decision to push it aside, channeling all his energy into his legs as they propelled him forward with unparalleled speed. Every stride he took was fueled by determination as he sprinted tirelessly toward the courtyard, envisioning a heartwarming scene awaiting him. His anticipation quickly transformed into apprehension when he set his eyes upon the grim reality before him.

The unmistakable stench of blood wafted through the air, thickening around him like an oppressive fog. The courtyard, once a haven of warmth and familial love, now lay concealed beneath a thick blanket of snow, the deluge of snowflakes descending relentlessly from above.

This natural spectacle, meant to be enchanting, now only served to magnify the pervasive odor of blood that seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment, permeating every nook and cranny of the once familiar space.

'Father!' Rickon screamed, his voice echoing through the desolate landscape as he desperately searched for a sign of his father's comforting presence. His wide eyes darted from one corner to another, hoping a familiar figure would emerge from the barren surroundings. To his dismay, the place resembled the abandoned tower nearby, devoid of any signs of life or habitation.

With a heavy heart, he gazed up at the towering structure that once held his parents' chambers, only to be greeted by a scene of complete devastation. The roof had crumbled into a heap of rubble, leaving behind the remnants of a once-grand edifice.

As his young mind grappled with the sight before him, a profound realization washed over Rickon – the absence of the Stark flags, the emblem of his noble house. Each meticulously crafted banner that once fluttered proudly in the wind is now reduced to ashes. Only desolate, empty spears remained where those magnificent symbols of honor and loyalty once stood.

Rickon suddenly heard the crow's cry once again; he looked upwards, the crow looking back at him, the white eyes of the crow looking back at him.

Rickon felt the pain once again, but again, it disappeared as quickly as it appeared, but something changed. Rickon looked around; he wasn't at Winterfell anymore; the castle disappeared like smoke blown by the wind. Rickon looked around, and he could see a Weirwood Tree and the crow resting on top of one of the branches, looking down at him, almost with pity.

Rickon glanced at the crow perched on the weirwood tree with a furrowed brow, clearly puzzled by its presence. Just as he tried to decipher the mysterious bird's intentions, the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed ominously behind him. Startled, Rickon swiftly swiveled on his heels to confront the source of the noise, only to be greeted by a chilling sight.

A sinister figure emerged from the shadows, shrouded in darkness, clutching an enigmatic object tightly in his grasp. Rickon strained his eyes to discern the nature of the item, his heart pounding in his chest. While the exact details remained elusively unclear, the glimmer of a metallic surface and the glint of a sharp tip caught Rickon's attention, unsettling him further as it was menacingly aimed directly at him...

Loose!

Rickon gasped, his face covered in sweat as though he had just emerged from a nightmare, his heart pounding with adrenaline. In a desperate attempt to calm himself, he instinctively reached for his chest, only to realize there was a distinct absence of something he held dear.

Panic gripped him, and an inexplicable surge of pain coursed through his body as if he had been struck by a piercing blade straight through his heart. His eyes welled up with a mix of anguish and confusion, and the icy grip of fear sent shivers down his spine.

Finally succumbing to his overwhelming emotions, he released a heart-wrenching cry. "Father!" he called out with every ounce of strength he could muster, his voice echoing through the tent. "Shaggydog is Hurt!"

However, it wasn't his father who arrived to comfort Rickon in his distress. Instead, it was his older brother Robb who materialized right before his teary eyes. Moving swiftly, Robb enveloped Rickon in a tender embrace, seeking solace for his younger sibling.

Rickon, overwhelmed by a flood of emotions, understood that his brother was desperately seeking answers as to what transpired. Unfortunately, all Rickon could manage amidst his uncontrollable sobs was a deep sense of loss. It was as if a vital fragment of his being had been abruptly severed, leaving him feeling an inexplicable chilliness, penetrating his bones and numbing his very core.

"I want Shaggydog, I want father!" Rickon cried out, his voice trembling with desperation, piercing through Robb's embrace as he tightly clung onto his older brother. Robb, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, held Rickon even closer, his heart aching at the sight of his distressed young sibling. Despite the comforting words whispered and the gentle strokes on Rickon's hair, Robb couldn't shake off a lingering sense of unease.

As the echoes of Rickon's cries reverberated through the tent, Robb's attention turned to his other siblings, who had been awakened by the sheer desperation in Rickon's voice. Sansa, Arya, and Bran blinked their sleepy eyes open, confusion etched upon their faces. However, Robb quickly noticed that their loyal direwolves, always alert and protective, lay motionless on the ground, resembling slumbering beasts. Their chests rhythmically rising and falling indicated that they were still breathing, yet a strange stillness had befallen them.

Brushing aside his own concerns, Robb gently nudged Rickon to face his other siblings, hoping to distract him from the unsettling sight. Softly, he whispered words of comfort, assuring him that everything would be alright. Raising his gaze to meet the worried eyes of Sansa, Arya, and Bran, Robb silently conveyed his determination to keep them safe.

Unknown to Robb, a crow looked at them from outside before taking flight; once the crow flew away, only then the sleeping direwolves woke up from their slumber.

Daenerys Targaryen

' As she walked through unfamiliar territory, a growing sense of confusion filled her mind. She found herself in a place she couldn't recognize, surrounded by billowing smoke that painted a grim scene. This was no ordinary smoke; it reached the heavens, ominously indicating the enormity of the wildfire that had ravaged the area. The fierce flames devoured everything in their path, their massive tongues licking the skies above.

Despite her familiarity with fire, Daenerys couldn't help but feel an unsettling heat radiating against her skin, an intense proximity that even she, known for her resilience to flames, couldn't shrug off. Deep down, she knew the destructive power of Wildfire, aware that if she succumbed to its wrath, she would be reduced to mere ashes, swiftly vanishing into the unforgiving air.

Daenerys took confident strides as she advanced towards the towering flames that loomed before her. As she moved closer, a serene sensation enveloped her as her bare feet touched the coolness of the water beneath her. The juxtaposition of the towering green flames against the gentle ripples on the water's surface created a captivating spectacle. It appeared as though the reflection of those majestic flames transformed the tranquil water into a fierce inferno.

Daenerys stood in awe as she gazed upon the mesmerizing sight of red embers gracefully swirling and dancing within the magnificent blaze before her. The intense heat emanating from the fire reached deep into her core as if a powerful furnace had been ignited within her. Inhaling deeply, she could feel the scorching warmth engulfing her throat, surpassing any sensation she had ever experienced. It was as if she had consumed flames, her breath resonating with the heat that radiated from within her.

"Ao māstan (You came)." As a voice suddenly reverberated in her mind, she couldn't help but feel a wave of unease wash over her. She instinctively scanned her surroundings, hoping to catch a glimpse of the source, yet to no avail. However, out of the corner of her eyes, a peculiar sight caught her attention—a creature soaring through the vast expanse of the night sky.

She swiftly turned her head, only to find herself facing the Cannibal. The very sight of this enchanting creature sent shivers down her spine as his gigantic frame caused the very ground beneath her to tremble in its wake. In an unexpected display of might, a hot and powerful gust of air escaped from Cannibal's nostrils. As his majestic green eyes, reminiscent of the mesmerizing hue of Wildfire, fixated upon her, Daenerys felt both a sense of trepidation and an inexplicable connection forming between them.

"Cannibal, Skoros gaomagon jaelā? (Cannibal, what do you want?)" Daenerys, with a determined effort to maintain composure, meticulously posed a question while battling against her inner turmoil. The dragon towering above her only intensified her struggle to steady her voice.

Despite her unwavering resolve, the sheer magnitude of the creature caused her to be overtaken by its overwhelming presence. The intense radiating heat emanating from its colossal body enveloped her, making her acutely aware of its scorching proximity. In an inexplicable sensation, it felt as if the dragon's mere proximity threatened to sear her delicate skin.

"Skoro syt rual aōha lēkia naejot ivestragon ao skoros naejot gaomagon? ao gīmigon se power ao ōregion, yet, ao iderēbagon naejot sagon mirrī riña, se rȳbagon naejot zȳhon orders. (Why allow your brother to tell you what to do? You know the power you held, yet you choose to be a little girl and listen to his orders.)" Cannibal jeered, his tone laced with both ridicule and genuine frustration.

Daenerys fixed a penetrating gaze upon Cannibal, her eyes burning with a mixture of defiance and reluctant agreement. Despite her strong will, it irked her to no end whenever her brother assumed the role of an authoritative figure, compelling her to comply with his wishes. I'm the one with the Dragon, not him, Daenerys muttered almost inaudibly, her voice resonating with an undertone of pride coursing through her veins.

"Issa ñuha lēkia, he's se Dārys (He's my brother, he's the King)." As soon as Daenerys voiced her objection, her tone was assertive and unwavering, filled with determination and conviction. However, her words seemed to amuse Cannibal. His laughter, echoing through the air, reverberated in her ears.

This was an entirely new experience for Daenerys, as she had never imagined dragons to laugh. Yet, instead of finding it amusing, the laughter sent chills down her spine, instilling a sense of fear within her. Cannibal abruptly ceased his laughter, leaning closer to Daenerys, his enormous face mere inches away from her. At that moment, his piercing eyes fixated on her, emanating a gaze filled with intense scrutiny and power. As she stood there, a heat wave enveloped her, emanating from the dragon's immense body. It was as if invisible waves of warmth washed over her, enveloping her in an almost suffocating embrace.

'Dragons are Fire made Flesh,' Daenerys told herself, remembering her mother's words a long time ago.

"Nyke gīmigon dāryssy, se aōha lēkia iksis iā mijegindita excuse hen iā dārys. Aōha lēkia iksis iā coward, ēza allowed naejot gaomagon skoros pōnta jaelagon kesrio syt ziry zūgagon ziry might become hae zȳhon pathetic kepa. Mazēdas aegarax arriving syt zirȳla naejot mazverdagon iā backbone, daor bona aegarax kessa dohaeragon olvie. (I know kings, and your brother is a poor excuse of a King. Your brother is a coward; he has allowed others to do what they wish because he feared he might become like his pathetic father. It took Aegarax arriving for him to grow a backbone, not that Aegarax will help much.) Cannibal spoke with mockery and a hint of anger in his voice.

"Ñuha lēkia gōntan skoros iksis bēvilagon (My brother did what is necessary)" Daenerys quickly defended her brother's honor; sure, Rhaegar had wanted her to marry in House Tully until Rhaella changed his mind, but her brother was thinking about the realm, and he needed to make sure no rebellion would happen, and when it comes to such things, sometimes the happiness of a single person should be sacrificed for peace to remain, and for thousands to not did in a field somewhere.

Daenerys, fueled by determination and a hint of defiance, fearlessly advanced towards Cannibal. Her step was deliberate, almost as if she was issuing a silent challenge to the formidable creature. However, instead of being intimidated, Cannibal dismissed her audacity scornfully. Dismissing her presence, the dragon nonchalantly released another billowing plume of scorching hot breath from its nostrils as if to assert its dominance and remind Daenerys of the perilous power it possessed.

"Aegarax iksis mēre hen īlva, ziry se Āemon kessa mīsagon īlva lentor (Aemon and Aegarax are one of us, he will protect us,)" Daenerys spoke with conviction, believing every word she said, Cannibal narrowed his eyes, glaring at her, he looked insulted by her words.

"Āemon iksis naught yn iā mundagon riñītsos qilōni iēdrosa wants naejot rhaenagon zȳhon muña, bisa iksis skoro syt jaelza Jelmor naejot daor sagon punished hae pōnta really gūrogon. Ziry might emagon Valyrīha ānogar, yn ziry can't dīnagon va hen se dīnagon īles raised, he's iā jelmōñe, se lo vīlībāzma sia naejot massigon, Āemon kessa sylugon naejot mazverdagon lyks, ziry would dōrī gaomagon aegarax naejot zālagon jelmōñe vali, sīr what's se point hen aegarax lo Āemon iksis tolī zūgagon naejot gaomagon zȳhon kustikāne?

(Aemon is naught but a sad little boy who still wants to meet his mother; this is why he wants the North not to be punished as they really deserve. He might have Valyrian blood, but he can't move on from the place he was raised; he's northern, and if war were to happen, Aemon would try to make peace; he would never use Aegarax to burn Northern men, so what's the point of Aegarax if Aemon is too scared to use his strength?)." Cannibal spoke with a sneer; Daenery wondered how Cannibal could know so much about Aemon. They had never met before, as far as Daenerys knew, yet he spoke as if he had known Aemon his whole life.

Daenerys heard what Cannibal said, but she didn't believe his words; she hadn't known Aemon for long, but she fully believed that he would fight for his family even if the enemy were House Stark and the North. He would show the Northern people why Torrhen Stark bent the knee that day and didn't listen to everyone else telling him he should fight the Dragons.

While Daenerys personally believed that the punishment towards House Stark was too tame, she had thought that her brother would have had Ned Stark executed for his crimes. For House Stark to no longer have any kind of power in the North, Robb Stark would be sent to the Wall, Bran and Rickon Stark would become squires of loyal knights, and the girls would marry loyal lords of House Targaryen.

Instead, her brother had done none of that; he had decided even to spare Lord Stark. Daenerys knew no other king would have humiliated themselves like that; not even King Viserys would have turned a blind eye on what Lord Stark had done.

Daenerys knew if it weren't for Aegarax's existence, every lord would have laughed at her brother's decision; people would call him a coward, comparing him to weak kings of House Targaryen. Daenerys looked at her own reflection in the water around her feet; she saw green eyes looking back at her instead of purple eyes.

"Nyke gīmigon skoros ao pendagon, you're iā dārilaros, yn jaelā naejot sagon iā dāria se daor sepār mirre dāria, jaelā naejot sagon se dāria (I know what you think, you're a Princess, but you want to be a Queen and not just any Queen, you want to be The Queen.)" The Cannibal spoke, making Daenerys look up at him with a hint of interest in her eyes.

Daenerys could see it; she could imagine it; she saw herself sitting on the Throne, but she wasn't just the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms; she was The Ruler of Essos and Westeros. She imagined herself sitting on a mighty throne, everyone bowing to her.

''' The sound of praise echoed through the air as endless amounts of people from every corner of the world exuberantly cheered for her. Her striking beauty captivated the onlookers, enhanced by the luxurious silk garments adorning her body. Proudly donned upon her shoulders and chest was a magnificent Targaryen armor, an emblem of her noble lineage. Glistening atop her head was the crown, once worn by Aegon the Conqueror. Her regal presence was further accentuated by the glimmering golden rings adorning her fingers, a testament to her wealth and power. And resting securely at her waist was the legendary Dark Sister, a symbol of her formidable strength.

Daenerys, with a sense of regality and authority, raised her gaze towards the vast expanse of the sky above her. Her loyal black dragon filled the air with a resounding roar reverberating throughout the realm. As she ascended the steps of her newly claimed throne, Daenerys positioned herself with grace and purpose, her every movement emanating strength and conviction.

Seated upon her majestic throne, Daenerys cast her penetrating gaze upon the sea of subjects assembled below. With an aura of confidence and command, she beheld the diverse crowd, witnessing with her own eyes the reverence and homage they paid to her. Not confined to the boundaries of Westeros alone, but extending to the far reaches of Essos and beyond, every region and every civilization acknowledged and submitted before Empress Daenerys Targaryen.'''

Daenerys shook those troubling thoughts away, her mind determined to rid herself of their influence. She then directed her furious glare towards Cannibal, her eyes burning with an intensity that could rival a raging inferno. "Keligon putting thoughts va ñuha bartos (Stop putting thoughts on my head)," Daenerys spoke with unwavering conviction, her voice carrying an air of authority and command.

Still fixated on Cannibal, she noticed how his vibrant green eyes seemingly danced, catching the glimmering light in a mischievous manner. As if finding amusement in her assertiveness, Cannibal couldn't help but release a deep, rumbling chuckle that reverberated through the air.

"Nyke can't dīnagon thoughts isse aōha bartos, byka dārilaros. These issi aōha own thoughts bona ao sylugon naejot suppress tolvie tubis se bantis (I can't put thoughts in your head, little princess. These are your own thoughts that you try to suppress every day and night.)" Cannibal said before he let out a burst of green flames right at Daenerys.

Daenerys closed her eyes in fear as the flames consumed her...

.

.

Daenerys jolted awake, her heart pounding rapidly against her chest as she forced her eyelids open. The scorching heat that enwrapped her body clung to her skin like tongues of fire, intensifying her discomfort. With an urgency fueled by the searing sensation, she swiftly pushed the suffocating blanket aside, exposing herself to the coolness of the air in her room.

As she stood up from the comfort of her bed, her trembling hands instinctively reached for her face, which was drenched in cold sweat, trickling down her temples and forming tiny rivulets on her forehead. Every inch of her being seemed to emit an intense heat.

Her bewildered gaze swept over her surroundings, searching for reassurance amidst the disorienting turmoil. The room appeared tranquil, untouched by the flames that had so vividly haunted her slumber. With each breath, she struggled to regain her composure, her mind gradually comprehending that the intense burning she had experienced was nothing more than a figment of her imagination – a tormenting dream.

Daenerys courageously took deep breaths, desperately seeking solace by calming herself down. Her racing heart seemed on the verge of exploding within her chest, anxiously threatening to consume her. However, as time passed, a glimmer of hope began to emerge amidst the chaos.

Gradually, she felt the suffocating fear dissipate like grains of sand slipping through her trembling fingers, leaving behind a calming emptiness in its wake. Simultaneously, a newfound passion ignited within her, as if an intense fire was being stoked deep within her chest. Its warmth spread like gentle flames, comforting and empowering her. At this moment, she couldn't help but experience a sense of improvement as waves of joy and pleasure washed over her, engulfing every fiber of her being.

I need to wash my body, Daenerys thought, feeling as if she needed to clean her body. At that moment, a familiar presence made its presence known to her senses - the unmistakable aura of Cannibal, her loyal dragon. Despite the cloak of darkness that enveloped the night sky, Daenerys was keenly aware of his proximity.

With a determined stride, she made her way towards the square window of her bedchamber, knowing deep within her heart that Cannibal stood guard, his unwavering gaze fixated upon her. The absence of moonlight did not hinder her vision, for she imagined his emerald eyes penetrating the darkness. Their connection brought her solace, instilling a renewed sense of strength and reminding her that she, too, possessed an inherent force. Knowing that Cannibal was constantly watching over her, Daenerys couldn't help but find solace, finding comfort in the knowledge that she was not alone.

Daenerys, well aware of the efficiency and dedication of the servants in the Royal Family, wasted no time in calling for their assistance. These servants were known for their exemplary service, even during the late night hours. Understanding her request, they promptly began preparing a luxurious bath for their princess.

Sensing the relaxation that awaited her, Daenerys leisurely removed the delicate straps of her nightgown, allowing it to effortlessly slide down from her shoulders and gracefully descend onto the polished floor.

Daenerys relished the exhilarating sensation of the pure, unpolluted air caressing her entirely exposed physique. As her delicate fingers grazed over her rosy nipples, she pivoted her gaze towards her luxurious bath, intrigued to observe the servant submerging her hand into the scalding water. However, the servant's agonized expression immediately caught Daenerys' attention, causing her to notice the subtle crimson hue manifesting on the servant's hand, clearly indicating the discomfort she must have endured.

"I need to cool it down, your grace," the servant said apologetically, not looking at the Princess. Daenerys, with her eyes fixed on the servant, quickly replied with a resonating "No," causing her voice to echo throughout the chamber. Her tone was unwavering and authoritative, befitting her commanding nature as a Princess.

The servant kept her gaze averted, avoiding eye contact with the regal figure standing before her. An overwhelming urge to voice her objections surged through her, but before she could utter a single word, Daenerys intervened. Raising her hand with a graceful authority, she commanded silence from the servant, her voice laden with a quiet but unwavering determination. "I like it how it is," she declared, her tone brooking no argument, "and you can leave my chamber."

Caught between her own conflicting thoughts and the weight of her allegiance to the princess, the servant's face twisted with a mix of confusion and hesitation. Finally, recognizing the futility of challenging the princess's wishes, she humbly bowed her head in a show of respect. Daenerys observed her with a watchful eye as the servant turned on her heels and slowly exited the grand chamber. The sound of the door clicking shut marked her departure, leaving Daenerys alone with her thoughts. With a sense of tranquility settling over her, the princess gracefully made her way toward her bath, ready to indulge in the soothing waters that awaited her.

The steam rising from the water added to the sensory experience, creating a hazy atmosphere in the bathroom. The temperature of the water was so scorching that it was nearing its boiling point, but despite this, Daenerys found solace in its comforting heat. As she eased her leg into the bath, a sense of relief washed over her, leaving behind the stress and concerns of the outside world.

The water seemed tailor-made specifically for her, inviting her to fully surrender to its soothing embrace. Gradually, she let her body sink into the sea of warmth, submerging everything but her upper torso in the rejuvenating liquid. With each passing moment, a profound sense of tranquility enveloped her, as if the water was purifying not just her physical being but her very soul. The sensation was so divine that it caused Daenerys to part her luscious, rose-colored lips and release a moan of utter pleasure, a testament to the sheer bliss she was experiencing.

Daenerys's hands moved sensually around her smooth, delicate arms and shapely thighs, expertly caressing every inch of her magnificent body. As the warm water cascaded over her, cleansing her skin, she found her thoughts drifting to someone who could make this already delightful bath even more pleasurable.

In her mind's eye, she pictured her handsome nephew stumbling upon her naked form in the bath. The mere thought of his presence ignited a fiery desire within her, causing her to instinctively lick her lips in anticipation of him joining her.

She couldn't help but close her eyes, fully surrendering to the vividness of her imagination. In her mind's eye, she could almost feel his warm breath cascading against the delicate skin of her neck, sending shivers of anticipation down her spine. The mere thought of his beautiful lips gently tracing a path of tender kisses along her neck awakened her senses, intensifying her yearning for his touch.

As her imagination continued to unfold, her mind conjured the sensation of his tantalizing mouth teasing and suckling on her sensitive nipples, kindling a deep ache of desire within her. Every flicker of his skilled lips brought forth waves of pleasure that coursed through her entire being, drawing her closer to the edge of ecstasy. With each passing moment, the heat within her core intensified.

Breath quickening with a mix of anticipation and desire, Daenerys found herself surrendered to her carnal urges. Feeling the fire building within her, she slowly parted her thighs, spreading herself open to reveal the glistening desire that awaited her touch. With an enticing slowness, she trailed one of her hands down the smooth expanse of her abdomen, feeling her skin tingle under her attentive fingertips.

Her fingers, guided by instinct, sought out her dampening fold, exploring the velvety folds that moistened with each heartbeat. The sensations coursing through her body intensified as she gently teased herself, savoring the delicious ache that pulsed between her legs. Her other hand, hungry for pleasure, glided across her chest, caressing the soft curve of each breast. Fingers grazing her sensitive nipples, she found herself gasping as tingles of pleasure radiated from her peaks.

In her mind's eye, Daenerys summoned the image of Aemon, imagining his strong hands roaming her body, tracing the curves that were her own. With a newfound confidence, she slipped two fingers inside her heated entrance, feeling the slick warmth that awaited her touch. The rhythm of her self-indulgence quickened as she focused her attention on her fleshy button, her thumb expertly manipulating the sensitive bud, sending electrifying waves of pleasure throughout her.

Lost in her own world of desire, Daenerys reveled in the sensual dance she choreographed for herself, a symphony of pleasure conducted by her own hands. Every stroke and touch brought her closer to an exquisite release.

"Ohhh, A-Aemon!" Daenerys moaned, her voice filled with passion and desire as she relished in the pleasure that her own touch brought. Her eyes closed, she visualized his presence, longing for his intimate caresses. In her vivid imagination, she transferred the sensation of his fingers onto herself, and the mere thought of his talented tongue exploring her sent shivers down her spine.

Immersed in her fantasy, Daenerys envisioned his piercing grey eyes gazing up at her from between her thighs, a gesture of unwavering devotion that fueled the fire within her. She yearned for him to submit himself completely, worshiping her with every ounce of his being, fully acknowledging the power and majesty she possessed. This notion of being revered as she deserved intensified her pleasure as another moan escaped her lips, resonating with the ecstasy that consumed her.

With one hand pleasuring herself, Daenerys pinched her nipples, feeling both pain and pleasure. Her nimble fingers expertly glided in and out, building momentum, swirling in teasing circles around her throbbing pearl of sensitivity. As the tension mounted, she applied gentle pressure to her swollen clit, deliberately stoking the flames of her desire.

In the throes of ecstasy, Daenerys reached her peak, her moans now punctuated with Aemon's name.

Daenerys experienced an ethereal sensation as she reclined in her exquisite bath. The water embraced her like a gentle caress, causing her to feel weightless, akin to a delicate feather gracefully drifting in the breeze. Serenely, her body effortlessly floated in the calming depths, leaving only her slender neck exposed to the serene water's surface.

Within the luxurious confines of her opulent bedchamber, a profound stillness enveloped the air, broken solely by the hushed melody of Daenerys's tranquil breaths. An unparalleled silence prevailed as if the very essence of serenity had descended, rendering the moment a harmonious symphony of peace.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the sound of faint footsteps growing louder. Daenerys' eyes fluttered open, and she found herself face-to-face with an enigmatic woman. This mysterious figure wore a striking red mask that concealed her features, but her mismatched eyes peered out captivatingly. One eye was a mesmerizing dark blue, while the other sparkled a vibrant shade of green.

As Daenerys studied the woman's elegant silhouette, it became clear that she was indeed a woman adorned in a long, flowing silver dress crafted from the finest silk. The fabric seemed to glide effortlessly along her graceful form, showcasing her ethereal beauty. Her long, lustrous white hair cascaded down her back, glowing like a cascade of precious gemstones. Daenerys couldn't help but compare it to the hair of her own beloved mother, yet it was undeniable that this stranger's locks possessed an otherworldly radiance. Adorning her lovely neck was a silver necklace, its delicate chain adorned with a glittering star that rested just above her captivating cleavage.

A single glance from this enigmatic woman sent a wave of intensity coursing through Daenerys, causing her breath to catch in her throat. At that moment, she couldn't help but feel a profound sense of smallness in the presence of such a powerful gaze.

I am a Dragon, Daenerys repeated in her head, reminding herself that she wasn't someone to be afraid of people.

"Daenerys Targaryen, seek out me, on the land of shadows, do not seek those that spoke lies, not the Ancient Dragon, not the lying crow. They're both liars of the world." The masked woman spoke as she leaned her masked face closer to Daenerys.

"Seek you? Who are you?"

"My beloved used to call me the most beautiful star, but he's naught but an empty shell. Call me Quaithe. My name is long gone." The masked woman whispered, her voice as sweet as honey. Daenerys felt a feeling of relief wash over her; her voice was so soft and warm.

"Why should I seek you?"

"The day Horn of Joramun is blown, the world will hear its song, echo through the world, every house, hill, and mountain will hear it, its sounds will reach even the highest of towers and the deepest of the abyss. The army of giants will be awakened once again, and they shall kneel to the owner of the Horn, whether they are Dragons, Krakens, Murmurs Dragon, or Others. Shrykos will be awakened, and he will cast a shadow; the day becomes night. Come to Asshai, and remember, the crows are liars, and the Ancient Dragons cannot be trusted,"

"Why should I believe you?" Daenerys questioned firmly as she rose from her steamy bath, every muscle in her body glistening with drops of water and adding an ethereal glow to her naked form. Her unwavering gaze locked onto Quaithe, who seemed unfazed by the Princess's exposed vulnerability.

"You don't have to trust me, Princess. You choose who you listen to. My only responsibility is to guide you. You choose whatever or not to listen to my words." Quaithe said as she took steps backward, away from Daenerys.

"Who is Shrykos?" Daenerys questioned; she couldn't help but shudder when his name was brought up.

"A Monster."

Robb Stark

Robb, with his auburn hair, felt the warm rays of the morning sunlight gently kissing his face as he slowly awakened from his deep slumber. The soft golden hues seeped through the curtains, painting his room with a delicate glow. As the warmth enveloped him, Robb's sleepy eyes fluttered open, revealing an intense determination in their piercing blue depths.

Gradually, Robb's muscular frame began to stir, and he instinctively lifted his upper body off the comfortable bed. His broad shoulders stretched, releasing the tension that had built up overnight. Determined to start the day on the right foot, he took a long, deliberate breath, attempting to soothe the anxious thoughts swirling in his mind. Today, he couldn't afford to let his emotions get the best of him.

This day, however, was not an ordinary one for Robb. In a few hours, he had yet another important assembly with the esteemed Royal Family. The weight of the upcoming encounter weighed heavily on his shoulders, casting a shadow over his usually composed demeanor. Deep down, doubts swirled within him like a tumultuous storm.

Of all the family members he would face, it was Jon who troubled him the most. The mere thought of his presence ignited a fierce anger within Robb, sending hot waves of resentment coursing through his veins. Robb knew he had to find somehow a way to navigate through the tension that lay ahead, yet the thought of encountering Jon still made his blood boil with overwhelming fury.

Despite the sun's gentle caress against his skin and the promise of a new day, Robb couldn't help but feel a daunting apprehension.

Robb's hands turned to fists; their knuckles clenched tightly as he felt the surge of anger and frustration building up within him. Taking deep breaths, he tried to calm his racing heart, desperate to find solace in the midst of his emotional turmoil. His intense gaze focused on the side of his bed, longing for a sight that would bring him comfort and reassurance. Robb's sapphire-blue eyes scanned the empty space, yearning for a glimpse of his cherished little brother, Rickon.

The previous night had been wrought with tears and distress for the young boy, prompting him to seek solace in Robb's bed. Robb had chosen not to rouse Rickon from his peaceful slumber, instead laying himself down on the opposite side of the bed. As if offering a small token of his affection, Robb carefully draped his blanket over his younger sibling, ensuring his warmth and protection throughout the night.

Yet, now Robb was confused to see that Rickon was no longer there; Robb looked around, expecting to see his little brother running around with Shaggydog behind him, but instead, he wasn't inside the tent.

He's perhaps playing, Robb thought, knowing his little brother was a little too wild as Robb stood up from his bed; just as this thought lingered, abruptly piercing through the stillness of the room, a piercing cry echoed in the air, causing Robb's attention to be instantly redirected towards the source.

Raising his eyes towards the left side of the room, a peculiar sight caught his eye. There, perched outside the tent, was a dark crow fixated upon him with an unusual intensity.

The crow's penetrating gaze held a mysterious and almost unsettling quality, leaving Robb both fascinated and slightly unnerved. Before he could dismiss the presence of the avian observer, his direwolf, Grey Wind, swiftly responded to the crow's presence by growling menacingly, revealing his formidable teeth.

Surprisingly, the commotion caused by Grey Wind's response awakened all the other direwolves who had been slumbering peacefully inside the tent. Each wolf, including the usually docile Lady, now joined in the chorus of growls, their instincts alert and senses heightened. It was a rare sight to witness even Lady, who was never known to growl at anyone.

Robb watched as the crow wasn't scared of them. Instead, the crow looked at each one of the direwolves with...anger before spreading his wings and flying away.

In a state of confusion, Robb thought to himself, desperately trying to grasp the unfolding events but failing to comprehend the situation at hand. However, before he could vocalize his puzzlement, the moment's tranquility was abruptly shattered by the entrance of an unexpected presence into the tent's confines.

To his immense relief, it was his mother, her countenance etched with worry. Yet, as her perceptive eyes landed upon Robb's figure, a wave of relief washed over her, eradicating the concern that once clouded her face and replacing it with a radiant, joyous expression.

Before Robb could even ask her where she had been the whole night, and just as he was about to voice his questions, she silently closed the distance between them with a determined stride, her fingers gently encircling his arm. Her eyes brimmed with emotion as she spoke, "Robb, I need you to come with me," her voice dripping with a blend of warmth and authority reminiscent of a caring mother. However, Robb's reflexes betrayed his conflicted feelings, causing him to abruptly recoil from her touch, withdrawing his arm with a swift motion.

"Go where? Our banners will gather within an hour. I need to be at the meeting," Robb quickly reminded her, knowing it would be disrespectful towards his lords if he were late; his father had told him many times not to be late at meetings. It doesn't matter if it is an important meeting or not.

"The Lords can wait, Robb. They're your banners, after all. It's their duty to wait for you," His mother spoke dismissively, not paying attention to what their banners wanted, reminding Robb that he was their Lord. They took orders from him, not the other way around. Robb reluctantly nodded, still feeling conflicted, before asking once again.

"Going where?"

"To your uncle, Robb," Catelyn answered in a slightly lower voice, her eyes looking around the tent as if to see if someone else was listening before leaning closer to Robb and whispering.

"House Tully will never sit and allow Ned to rot at the Wall; Lady Cersei reassured me that she will talk with her father to have the support of House Lannister,"

Robb leaned away from his mother, shaking his head; he couldn't help but feel that what she was promising sounded too good to be true.

"What do they want in return?" Robb questioned right away, knowing House Lannister would never support them out of the goodness of their heart; he doubted they had hearts to begin with.

"Jaime Lannister has an heir. He's at the same age as Sansa." Catelyn explained, with a look of self-triumph; Robb couldn't help but notice that his mother looked too proud of herself, as if the deal was already sealed, despite not having Tywin Lannister's words. Robb knew Cersei's words held no real power for House Lannister. If Tywin himself didn't make any promises, then Cersei's words had the same weight as a horse's shit.

"Very well," Robb agreed, fully aware of the precariousness of this deal. Deep down, he harbored doubts about its feasibility, as he knew all too well the treacherous nature of Tywin Lannister. Rather than lending a hand, the Lannister lord was more inclined to betray them when push came to shove. Determined to stay alert, Robb followed his mother's lead and stepped outside the tent.

Once their feet touched the ground beyond, Robb's sharp eyes darted around, scanning his surroundings for any signs of Rickon's presence. Anticipation and worry gripped him as he yearned to catch a glimpse of his youngest brother, hoping he would find him nearby. However, unease began to settle in as every corner he observed remained void of Rickon's energetic figure, even in the usually bustling training yard.

As Robb opened his mouth to ask his mother about Rickon's whereabouts, a wave of uncertainty washed over him. Suddenly, a deafening roar reverberated across the vast expanse of land, sending shivers down his spine. In an instant, all eyes turned towards the heavens, anticipation brimming within each heart, expecting to see Jon's white dragon gracefully soaring through the skies.

Robb, with his eyes widening in disbelief, could hardly believe what he was witnessing before him. As he caught sight of the colossal black Dragon, a surge of terror coursed through his veins, causing his heart to plummet into the pit of his stomach. It was no ordinary Dragon; its size was only slightly smaller than Aegarax. It was still massive. The sunlight danced off its gleaming scales.

Robb's heart began to race uncontrollably, beating faster than ever before, fueled by a primal fear that gripped him fiercely. When the dragon directed its attention towards the towering Harrenhal castle, an all-encompassing dread descended upon Robb. The very foundation trembled under the might of the Dragon's deafening roar, causing several windows to shatter instantaneously. With each agonizing moment passing, Robb could feel the weight of the imminent danger as the dragon soared away from Harrenhal.

His roar was almost a warning, letting them know that House Targaryen held the true power and that they were nothing but sheep to the Dragons.

Robb caught a glimpse of his mother's face, and to his utter dismay, it had transformed into a ghastly shade of pale, resembling the freshly fallen snow on a winter's day. The fear that had gripped her was quite understandable, for as Robb glanced down at his own visage, he noticed it was drenched in perspiration so chilling that it felt as though he were standing in a blizzard. The sun's scorching heat bore down on them, yet the frigid sensation seemed to seep into every fiber of his being. It was as if the icy touch of death was reaching out despite the sweltering heat.

In that harrowing moment, all other sounds seemed to fade away in the background, and all that echoed in Catelyn Tully's trembling voice were the desperate words: "Gods be Good."

So something happened to Shaggydog, and Rickon is not around? Daenerys feels her connection with Cannibal grow, and Quaithe warns her not to trust the crow and the Ancient Dragons.

Fun Question: Since Rhaella was never in the Show, which actress would be the best to play her?

I hope you have enjoyed the Chapter. Let me know in the Comments what you think about the Chapter.