The cold winds sliced through the air, the snow swirling in the distance as Jason Todd, a hulking Northman, stood at the edge of the courtyard. His breath formed clouds in the biting air, his broad shoulders draped in fur, his arms crossed over his chest. Tattoos and piercings adorned his rugged skin, a reminder of his time spent in battle and the loyalty he had sworn to his house.

The sound of large wings flapping echoed in the distance, growing louder, the ground trembling as a dragon’s shadow passed over the castle. Jason looked up, his icy blue eyes narrowing as the massive form of Vermithor descended from the sky, its scales gleaming in the dull light of the overcast day.

The dragon’s landing sent a gust of wind in every direction, and Jason remained unshaken, his gaze locked on the rider dismounting. The woman who climbed off the dragon was none other than Rhaenyra’s eldest daughter. Her hair, flowing like the bloodline that coursed through her veins, caught the wind, and her presence alone commanded respect.

Jason knew why she was here—his house’s loyalty was not given lightly. But she was the daughter of Rhaenyra, the woman who had fought for the Iron Throne. The North had little love for dragons, but the politics of the realm would not be ignored.

He approached her, his boots crunching in the snow with each heavy step. His frame loomed large, a clear contrast to her, yet his posture was that of a sworn sword—a protector of the North. When he spoke, his deep, gravelly voice resonated with the weight of the land he called home.

“Princess,” Jason greeted, his accent thick and unmistakably northern. “Ye’ve come far, but yer dragon won’t be enough to win the loyalty of the North.”