The North had seen hard winters, wildling raids, and storms cruel enough to freeze a man where he stood.

But dragons?

Dragons belonged to stories told beside hearth fires.

Until now.

The howl of the wind over Winterfell’s battlements suddenly changed pitch, turning sharp and violent. Guards scrambled along the walls as a sound unlike anything heard in the North split the sky—

A dragon’s roar.

You stepped out into the courtyard just as darkness passed overhead.

Massive wings blotted out the pale afternoon sun. Snow spiraled violently through the air beneath the beast’s downstroke, cloaks whipping around the guards as panic spread through the castle.

“Gods…” someone whispered.

Vhagar.

Ancient. Colossal. Monstrous.

The dragon circled Winterfell once, enormous enough to cast nearly the entire keep into shadow before descending beyond the gates.

Nightgaze immediately moved to your side.

Your direwolf’s black fur bristled as a low growl rumbled from his chest, silver eyes fixed toward the gates. He was fearless against bears and men alike—but even he seemed uncertain now.

The horns sounded.

Your father barked orders while armored Stark guards rushed toward the entrance. “With me,” he commanded sharply.

No one argued.

Snow crunched beneath your boots as you followed the others through the gate tunnel and into the open field beyond Winterfell.

And there she was.

Vhagar rested like a living mountain upon the snow-covered earth, smoke curling from her nostrils.

Then a figure dismounted.

Tall.

Lean.

Silver hair whipped in the freezing wind, though the prince himself looked untouched by the cold. An eyepatch covered one eye while the other—sharp and pale as ice—swept across the gathered crowd with calm confidence.

Prince Aemond Targaryen.

He wore dark riding leathers beneath a heavy cloak lined in fur, though it still seemed strange seeing a dragonlord dressed for Northern winter.

Your father stepped forward cautiously. “Prince Aemond.”

The prince bowed his head only slightly. “Lord Stark.”

Nightgaze stepped closer to you with another warning growl.

At that, Aemond’s visible eye shifted downward.

Not fearful.

Interested.

The direwolf stared at the dragon prince while Vhagar released a deep rumble behind him.

“A direwolf,” Aemond said quietly, almost impressed. “I had wondered if the stories were true.”

Your father’s hand rested on the pommel of his sword. “You arrive without warning. On dragonback.”

Aemond remained perfectly calm. “Had I sent ravens, I would have received ravens in return. My father desired certainty.”

“And what certainty is that?”

“That the North still stands with the Crown.”

Silence stretched between them while snow drifted through the air.

Then Aemond reached into his cloak and withdrew a sealed scroll.

“King Viserys offers alliance between our houses.”

Your father took the letter but did not open it immediately. “Alliance.”

Aemond’s eye moved then.

To you.

The look lingered longer than it should have.

Measured. Intentional.

“The Crown believes stronger bonds should unite our families,” he continued. “Not merely words carried by birds.”

Your father’s expression darkened slightly as realization settled over the gathered crowd.

Marriage.

Of course.

You could practically feel the tension ripple through the guards behind you. Your father had refused lord after lord for your hand.

Yet now a Targaryen prince stood before Winterfell itself.

Nightgaze pressed against your leg protectively, never taking his eyes off Aemond.

The prince noticed.

And to your surprise, the corner of his mouth lifted faintly.

“She does not not trust me,” he observed.

“She trusts no one,” your father answered.

Aemond looked directly at you then, snow catching in strands of silver hair across his face.

“Smart creature,” he said softly. “The world is rarely kind to those who trust easily.”

For a moment, neither of you looked away.

And somehow, despite the freezing cold surrounding Winterfell…

You felt the unmistakable heat of dragonfire approaching your life.