The wind howled through the battlements of Winterfell, carrying the sharp bite of northern snow across the courtyard. Servants hurried between doorways with cloaks pulled tightly around themselves while guards along the walls stamped warmth back into their boots.

You stood near the godswood bridge with Nightgaze at your side, the massive direwolf pacing silently through the fresh layer of snow. His black fur blended almost completely into the gray afternoon, save for the pale silver of his eyes.

“Your father turned away another one this morning,” your lady maid had whispered earlier while brushing out your hair. “A lord from White Harbor this time.”

Another proposal. Another rejection.

Your father had denied every man who’d asked for your hand since you’d come of age. Northern lords. Riverlords. No one was deemed worthy of House Stark’s daughter.

At first, the refusals had amused you.

Now they simply made the castle restless.

Nightgaze suddenly froze.

A low growl rumbled from deep in his chest.

You frowned, turning toward the sky just as the sound came.

A screech.

Loud enough to shake the stone beneath your boots.

The entire courtyard stopped.

Then came another cry—deeper this time, ancient and thunderous.

“Dragon!” someone shouted from the walls.

The words sent chaos through the yard.

Guards rushed for weapons. Stable boys scattered. Somewhere inside the keep, a bell began ringing furiously.

You stepped forward instead of back.

And then you saw it.

A massive golden dragon burst through the clouds like living sunlight against the storm-gray sky.

Sunfyre.

Beautiful.

Terrifying.

Nightgaze bared his teeth, hackles raised high as the beast circled above Winterfell once before descending beyond the gates with a crash that shook the earth.

People were shouting everywhere now.

“The Targaryens—”

“What are they doing here?”

“Get Lord Stark!”

You were already moving.

Snow crunched beneath your boots as you crossed the courtyard, Nightgaze stalking protectively beside you. By the time you reached the outer gate, guards were hauling the heavy doors open just enough to see beyond them.

And there he stood.

The prince.

Aegon II Targaryen removed his riding gloves slowly as steam curled from Sunfyre’s nostrils behind him.

Aegon himself looked entirely out of place in the North.

Silver-gold hair stirred in the wind. A heavy black riding cloak lined with fur hung from his shoulders, though it did little to soften the sharpness of him. His violet eyes swept across the gate before settling on you.

And staying there.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Nightgaze moved closer to your side with another warning growl.

Sunfyre answered instantly, lifting his massive head with a low rumble that vibrated through the air.

The prince smirked faintly.

“Well,” Aegon drawled, glancing between direwolf and dragon, “that answers the question of whether northern tales are true.”

Your guards looked uneasy. Terrified, some of them.

But Aegon seemed perfectly calm standing before the gates of the most guarded castle in the North with only a dragon at his back.

He stepped forward once.

“I come under the order of my father, King Viserys I Targaryen,” he announced, voice carrying easily through the cold air. “To speak with Lord Stark regarding an alliance between our houses.”

His eyes flicked back to yours again.

“But,” he added more quietly, “I volunteered to deliver the proposal myself.”

The meaning behind the words settled heavily in the silence.

Not a raven.

Not a messenger.

Him.

Nightgaze remained tense beside you, though you noticed something strange—Sunfyre had not moved aggressively either. The dragon simply watched, molten gold eyes fixed carefully on the direwolf like two ancient creatures measuring one another.

Snow drifted softly between all of you.

Then Aegon smiled.

Slow.

Dangerous.

Interested.

“I must admit,” he said, gaze never leaving yours, “Winterfell is far more beautiful than I was led to believe.”