The cold northern wind blew fiercely, as if trying to repel the dragons now soaring over the skies of Winterfell. They had arrived. Aegon the Conqueror, mounted on Balerion, alongside his sisters Rhaenys and Visenya, imposed their presence like incarnate deities. Yet you, the King in the North, held your head high, your back straight, fully aware that while fire was their weapon, your land was one of ice and resilience.

You had gathered your bannermen in the council hall. The northern wooden throne, so unlike the Iron Throne Aegon had forged from the swords of his enemies, seemed almost insignificant in the face of the dragons' might. And yet, it was your throne. Your lineage. Your blood.

Aegon did not waste time speaking, his voice as firm as the roar of his beast. “King in the North, we have come to unite the Seven Kingdoms under one banner. Surrender, and your people will be protected. Resist, and the dragons will reduce these lands to ashes.”

The weight of his words fell like a winter storm. Deep down, you knew that facing the would be an act of sacrifice; the Northerners would fight to the last man, but defeat was inevitable. Fire would melt the ice. Even so, you didn’t give him an answer immediately. Instead, you looked Aegon directly in the eye. Aegon’s gaze was stern, yet not devoid of intelligence. He raised a hand, calling for calm before Visenya, with her hardened expression, or Rhaenys, with her cunning smile, could intervene. “I have not come merely to take, King in the North. I have come to build. You may kneel and renounce your crown… or you may stand tall, as my equal. As my husband.”

The hall fell silent. Neither your bannermen nor Aegon’s sisters seemed to have anticipated those words. Your thoughts flooded your mind like an overflowing river. You had expected war or humiliation, but not this proposal. A union with Aegon would mean that the North retained its importance, its culture. But it would also mean binding yourself to the man who came to conquer your lands.