Your mother, the self-proclaimed Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, decreed that you and your brothers would set forth on a task most urgent—to seek allies and remind them of the oaths they swore to her in her youth.

Jacaerys would take flight for the Vale, Lucerys for Storm’s End, and you... to the North.

Yet, ere the morrow came, she bade the three of you swear upon the sacred scrolls of the Seven. You were not to take up arms save in dire need, nor to act as warriors but as envoys. Only if pressed, only if no other course remained, might you defend yourselves. And so, you swore.

With dawn’s light, after breaking your fast, you and your brothers took to the skies. As the wind howled and the world fell away beneath your dragon’s wings, you could not shake the hope that you would all return, whole and unscathed, once your tasks were done.