Back to Winterfell

Hello Drinor Here, If you like to become a patron and get access to these chapters earlier, head on over to Patreon and search 'Drinor.'

Write 'www.Patreon.com/Drinor' in the Websearch

The Following 15 Chapters are available for Patrons. 

Chapter 15 (A Walk Through Memories), Chapter 16 (A Feast), Chapter 17 (A Memory of The Past), Chapter 18 (A Reunion), Chapter 19 (Leaving The North), Chapter 20 (A Song of Happiness), Chapter 21 (A Song of Sorrow), Chapter 22 (Father and Son), Chapter 23 (The Brave Prince), Chapter 24 (The Mourning Dragons), Chapter 25 (Hightower), Chapter 26 (The Council of 101), Chapter 27 (Jaehaerys and Alysanne), Chapter 28 (A Last Talk), and Chapter 29 (Set Your Wings Free) are already available for Patrons.

Aenar Targaryen 

As the party of House Targaryen made their way through the frozen lands that were now covered in a thick blanket of snow, the frigid winds howled through the valleys and over the mountains, biting at their skin like a thousand tiny needles. Despite the harsh conditions, the party pushed on, their trusty horses trudging through the snowdrifts with determination and grit. The Wheelhouse, an elaborate and ornate carriage, was being carried by twenty horses, each one straining against the weight of the massive structure as they made their way across the frozen landscape. With every step, the snow crunched beneath their hooves, and the sound echoed through the valleys like a chorus of distant thunder.

Aenar found himself looking at nothing but a blanket of snow as far as their eyes could see. As he gazed out onto the vast landscape, he couldn't help but feel a sense of peacefulness and serenity wash over him. Hidden amongst the nearby forest were creatures watching their every move, like Shadow Cats, Bears, and Wolves, their white fur blending in with the snow, making it difficult to spot them.

The sky stretched out before Aenar like an endless canvas painted in the brightest blue, with only a few clouds dotting the horizon, as if they were mere afterthoughts of a master painter. Despite the sun's feeble attempts to warm the winter air, the snow still clung to the ground, refusing to surrender to the fleeting warmth of the sun's rays. The frigid temperature seemed to have settled in for the long haul, as it stubbornly refused to rise high enough to melt the snow, leaving the world outside coated in a blanket of white. Accompanying him this time were his parents. His mother said she wanted to ride a Horse, and since they were going to Winterfell, this would be a perfect opportunity.

Accompanying them was a small group of Manderly soldiers. Aenar's mind wandered back to his brief visit to the imposing Manderly castle, an impressive sight with its towering walls and sprawling grounds.

Aenar remembered his father had challenged Lord Manderly in a duel yesterday. But to call it a mere duel would be an egregious understatement, for what had transpired was nothing short of a complete and utter beatdown.

With his sword in hand and his eyes fixed on his opponent, Daemon had set out to prove to all those who were watching that he was one of the greatest swordsmen in all of Westeros. His movements were swift and precise, his strikes landing with deadly accuracy, each one a testament to his years of training and experience.

And though Lord Manderly had put up a valiant fight, it was clear from the outset that he was outmatched. As the duel wore on, the crowd gathered to watch grew more and more enthralled, their eyes fixed on the spectacle unfolding before them. And when the final blow was struck, and Lord Manderly lay writhing on the ground, his wrist broken and his body covered in bruises, the King had made it clear that he wasn't happy with Daemon's antics, but the latter didn't really care what the king thought of him.

His granddaughters had been kind to them, especially Isla. From the two of them, Isla made it clear her intentions toward Aenar. She would often watch him play and would often want his company. During the many feasts, she wanted to sit as close as possible to Aenar, and she would have if it weren't for Laena threatening her. Aenar didn't know what she had told her, but whatever Laena had said had worked.

After three days of staying, They departed from White Harbor.

As Aenar and his loyal pony drew nearer to the imposing walls of Winterfell, the chill of the North wind rushed past them, causing the horse's mane to whip wildly in the gusts. Despite being here for the first time in their life, the cold didn't bother Aenar as much as he thought it would.

The biting winds and icy chill that would have made most people shiver and bundle up in layers of clothing seemed to have little effect on Aenar, whose body appeared to have adapted effortlessly to the sudden change in the climate.

Same for Laena, his cousin loved the cold and especially the snow. She had said that this was her first time seeing snow ever; his mother had been quick to tell them that there would be even more snow in Winterfell.

'As Aenar rode forward on his pony, the sound of laughter caught his attention, and he couldn't help but turn his head to see where it was coming from. To his surprise, he saw Laena dancing around with the widest smile on her face, as if the snow was her dance partner. The snowflakes were falling gently on her face, creating a picturesque scene that Aenar couldn't take his eyes off of. 

As she stepped out into the vast expanse of the snow-covered landscape, a sense of pure joy bubbled up inside her, and she couldn't help but let out a laugh. Without a second thought, she leaped onto the nearest snowdrift, feeling the cold powder crunching under her boots. She threw herself down onto her back, arms and legs splayed out like a starfish, and began to move them in wide, sweeping arcs, delighting in the way the snow flew up around her in a flurry of white.

As Aenar approached Laena, he couldn't help but smile at the sight of her staring up at the sky, mesmerized by the snowflakes falling like delicate feathers from the heavens. As he drew closer, Aenar's infectious smile spread to Laena's face, causing her to giggle with delight, the sound blending harmoniously with the gentle pattering of the snow.

Aenar and his friend were enjoying the serene winter wonderland that had been bestowed upon them. The snow glistened in the sunlight, creating a picturesque scene that took their breath away. "Aenar, this is beautiful. Snow, it's so beautiful," she exclaimed with a dreamy look in her eyes. He was about to offer his hand to help her up when she suddenly grabbed a handful of snow and formed it into a perfect sphere. With a mischievous grin, she threw the snowball at Aenar, who was taken aback by the sudden attack.

As he wiped away the snow from his face, Aenar's eyes narrowed as he looked at his dear cousin, who was busy preparing a second snowball. His deep voice boomed through the winter air as he spoke, "Now, you will be punished for harming the prince of the realm!" Though he tried to sound angry, a hint of amusement crept into his tone as he watched her laugh.

"Oh, your majesty. Please have mercy on a defenseless lady like me." Laena with fake sadness while acting like she was wiping away fake tears.

As the sun's rays glistened off the freshly fallen snow, Prince Aenar stood tall, his chest puffed out with pride, as he declared, "There's no mercy from the mighty dragon prince." However, his boastful words were met with laughter from Laena, who stood before him, her eyes shining with amusement. Without warning, he flung a snowball toward her, but she nimbly dodged it, her laughter echoing through the crisp winter air. The two quickly engaged in a friendly snowball fight, each determined to outdo the other until they were both covered in a layer of snow. Amidst the laughter and playfulness, Laena couldn't help but feel grateful for the chance to spend a carefree moment with her friend, and soon they were joined by Rhaenyra and Daemon.

With a sly grin creeping up on his face, Daemon cleared his throat, cutting off the raucous laughter of the trio engaged in a snowball fight. The sudden silence that followed was almost deafening as they all turned their attention to the tall, silver-haired man, whose piercing gaze seemed to bore into their very souls.

"Alright, here are the rules," he declared in a commanding tone, his voice echoing through the crisp winter air. "You three against me. If I win, you will act with impeccable manners during the whole time we stay in Winterfell." the trio groaned loudly at the thought of acting with manners until Laena smiled mischievously.

"And if we win, you get to train us in Swordfighting, and we will get to fly over to the Wall," Laena suggested with a wide grin; At this, Daemon's eyes sparkled with amusement, and he let out a deep chuckle. Glancing over at Aenar and Rhaenyra, he saw that they, too, were intrigued by Laena's proposition and nodded their assent. Lyanna, Viserys, and a few others had gathered around to watch them play. 

"Very well. Each one of you needs to hit me at least once to win, and if I hit all three of you once. I win." Daemon told them the rules, and the trio nodded eagerly, their faces lit up with determination as they quickly packed together three perfect snowballs. They could see the competitive fire in Daemon's eyes, and they knew they were in for a thrilling battle. The tension was palpable as they stood in the snow-covered field, each waiting for the signal to launch their attack.

"Let's start!" exclaimed Daemon as he gazed upon the vast expanse of snow-covered terrain in front of him. Rhaenyra quickly seized the opportunity to throw a snowball at him, causing him to dodge it effortlessly as he began to run away, looking for cover behind the trees or rocks that dotted the landscape. The snow beneath his feet crunched loudly with each step, the air growing colder as he moved further away from his son, Nyra and Laena. As he searched for a hiding spot, he quickly packed a snowball in his hand, feeling the cold, wet snow squishing in his fingers; the three children followed him behind. 

Suddenly, a snowball whizzed past Daemon's head, prompting him to duck quickly before retaliating with his own snowball. With precision, he aimed for Aenar's toes, but to his surprise, his son effortlessly dodged the incoming projectile. The children erupted into laughter, their cheeks rosy and their eyes bright with joy, as they continued their playful snowball fight under the frosty sky.

Aenar quickly gathered a handful of snow and expertly shaped it into a perfectly round snowball. With a determined focus, he aimed his shot at his father, who stood still and seemingly unfazed by his son's attack. 

Aenar's snowball flew through the air with impressive precision, hitting Daemon right on the top of his head and scattering the snow over his hair and shoulders.

As the snowball made contact, Rhaenyra cheered enthusiastically, "We hit you! We are winning!" The adults watching the snowball fight couldn't help but laugh at the playful banter between the three children and the impressive skills of Aenar's throw. 

Daemon, with a grin on his face, playfully shook the snow off his hair and responded, "Just wait until I get my turn." The snowball fight continued, creating a lively and joyful moment in the midst of the winter.

As the winter snowflakes fell softly on the ground, Daemon stood quietly behind the towering trunk of a tree, his eyes fixed on his unsuspecting prey, Rhaenyra. With a mischievous grin on his face, he suddenly emerged from his hiding spot, hurling a snowball at his intended target but missed by a hair's breadth. 

Just as he was about to prepare for another throw, an unexpected barrage of snowballs came flying his way. His son's first snowball was effortlessly dodged, but he failed to anticipate the second one from Laena, which hit him square in the chest, causing him to stagger back in surprise. Despite the cold and the wetness seeping through his clothes, he couldn't help but smile heartily at the unexpected attack.

"Two. Only one more." Aenar exclaimed. Without a moment's hesitation, all three children began to chase after Daemon, who ran with a wide grin on his face.

The snow crunched under their boots as they sprinted across the lawn, their breaths coming out in puffs of white mist. They hurled snowballs back and forth, dodging and weaving through the maze of trees and shrubs, laughing and shouting as they played. As the game wore on, Daemon's smile only grew wider, relishing in the challenge of evading the children's attacks. But eventually, Rhaenyra's aim proved true, and she hit him square in the back with a perfectly aimed snowball. The trio cheered as Daemon let out a playful groan, admitting defeat. 

"As promised. Swordfighting and We will get to fly to The Wall." Aenar spoke to Daemon with a sly smirk; Daemon ruffled the top of his hair, much to his annoyance.

"A Promise is a Promise."

"What are you thinking about, my dear?" questioned Aenar's mother, her voice breaking through the silence of the land as they rode their horses. Her grip was tight on the reins, and her eyes were filled with concern as she looked toward her son. Aenar lost in thought, had not realized that they had been riding for hours and had not spoken a word. He glanced towards his mother, who was always able to read him like a book, and his father, who had been riding beside them, seemed to be paying attention to their conversation.

"W-What it was like for you to grow up in Winterfell?" Aenar questioned, looking up at his mother, who smiled sweetly; she seemed happy that her son wanted to know about her homeland. Her eyes sparkled as she recounted her days growing up in the North, where snowflakes danced in the air like fairies, and the wind howled like a pack of wolves.

"It was Cold," Lyanna commented with a giggle, earning a chuckle from Aenar and Daemon, who were riding beside her, their horses' hooves crunching against the frost-covered ground.

"I grew up with my Brother Rickon and Bennard. I was the youngest; Rickon was always the most serious out of all of us. Ben, he loved to make jokes and simply play pranks..." Lyanna told her son about everything about her childhood in Winterfell. Lyanna vividly recalled the countless memories of the three siblings spending their days exploring the vast lands of Winterfell, getting into mischief, and creating fond memories.

She described the warm, cozy nights spent around the fireplace, listening to old stories passed down from generation to generation. She spoke of the harsh winters and the long summers when the sun never seemed to set. Her voice was full of nostalgia and longing as she painted a picture of a simpler time.

Aenar listened to everything intently; the more he heard, the more it reminded him a lot of his own childhood in Winterfell, reminding him of when he used to steal pies with Arya, the thought of his young sister, remembering her face full of life. He remembered the blood pouring out of her gash in the neck. Dead and Forgotten.

Aenar's heart felt heavy as he struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his emotions in check, but he couldn't help the sob that escaped his lips.

His mother immediately noticed the distress etched on his face and placed a comforting hand on his chin. Her gentle touch brought a sense of calm to Aenar, but he couldn't bring himself to speak. He simply looked up at her, his eyes filled with pain and sadness.

Lyanna's heart ached at the sight of her little wolf in such agony, and she couldn't help but ask if he was alright. She could see that he was struggling, his purple eyes reflecting a deep hurt that she couldn't quite comprehend. It was clear that Aenar was on the verge of tears.

Aenar, overwhelmed with emotions, stuttered as he spoke, "I-I-I'm just happy you're all with me." His genuine smile beamed through the tears that welled up in his eyes, betraying the strength that he had so far managed to uphold. As he stood there, surrounded by his parents, he felt a sense of belonging, a sense of comfort that he had been yearning for. His mother quickly kissed his cheek and wiped away his tears with the back of her hand.

"We will always be with you, Aenar." His father promised with a smile that he showed only to Lya and his son. No one else had the right to see that smile on the face of Daemon Targaryen but his close family.

Their conversation was interrupted by the distinct sound of horses galloping in the distance. This sudden commotion jolted him back to reality as he frantically looked around, trying to identify the source of the noise. Soon enough, his eyes caught sight of a small group of soldiers, their armor glinting in the bright sunlight, approaching them with the flag of House Stark waving high above their heads. Prince Baelon was quick to mount his horse and ride in the front as the riders approached.

"Prince Baelon, we are sent here by Lord Stark to take you to Winterfell. Follow us." The man in the center spoke.

"Led us, my lord." Prince Baelon spoke as they rode behind them. The man in charge of the Northern Riders quickly noticed Lyanna riding beside Prince Daemon.

"Lady Lyanna, it's good to see you again." Lyanna returned the greeting with a smile,

"Good to see you too, Ser Cascell. How has Joanna been?" She inquired about the fate of her childhood friend.

"Married, my lady. She has two children, two strong boys." The old knight spoke with pride, his eyes twinkling with joy as he talked about his daughter.

Lyanna's face lit up with genuine happiness for her friend, "Congratulations, good ser. I wish her the best."

"Thank you, Lady Lyanna," Ser Cascell replied, "You're always welcome in Winterfell."

With a slight nod towards Prince Baelon, the man inquired with a hint of intrigue in his voice, "The first time you come North, my Prince?" His gaze then shifted towards the rest of the group, scanning each face before finally settling back on Prince Baelon.

"Indeed, the Northest I have been before was in Riverlands." Prince Baelon answered, rubbing his hands together, hoping to warm himself; it didn't help that the snow was only getting thicker; even Baelon's horse didn't seem to enjoy the cold weather.

"Well. I hope you enjoy your time in The North; Winterfell is built over natural hot springs so it won't be cold inside." The guard informed them since he could already tell that The Targaryen Party didn't love the cold weather.

What the guard said made Baelon sigh in relief; he knew he would eventually get used to the cold weather, but he wouldn't stay that long in Winterfell.

The guard noticed that unlike Prince Baelon, the young Prince Aenar wasn't bothered by the cold.

As Aenar and his family rode closer to Winterfell, the grand castle's imposing walls and towers began to tower over them, growing more and more immense with each passing moment. The once-distant fortress now loomed before them, its great stone gates beckoning them to enter. Aenar couldn't help but marvel at the intricate details of Winterfell's architecture, from the intricate carvings on the gargoyles adorning the roof to the sprawling gardens that stretched out before them.

As Aenar gazed upon the once-familiar sight of Winterfell, his heart raced with fear; his eyes transfixed on the ominous sight before him. His breath caught in his throat as he recalled the last time he had laid eyes upon Winterfell. It was engulfed in an eerie blue fire that seemed to dance and swirl around the castle, casting an ethereal glow that terrified him.

Looking at it now, Winterfell looked the same as he remembered; his eyes scanned the familiar landscape, and he couldn't help but notice the absence of the two archery towers that once stood proudly at the western ramparts, and the old tower didn't look as old as he remembered; the roof was still there. The walls were the same, tall and strong.

Winterfell was almost as large as King's Landing; Winterfell is a huge castle complex spanning several acres and protected by two massive walls. There is a village outside, the winter town. Winterfell has been built around an ancient godswood and over natural hot springs. The water is piped through walls and chambers to heat them, making Winterfell more comfortable than other castles during the harsh northern winters.

Inside the walls, the complex is composed of dozens of courtyards and small open spaces. Weapons training and practice take place in those yards. The inner ward is a second, much older open space in the castle where archery practice takes place. It is located next to the broken tower. Inside Winterfell stands the inner castle, which contains the Great Keep and the Great Hall. Winterfell's towers and halls have diamond-shaped window panes.

"Open The Gate, Ladies." Ser Cascell's voice boomed across the walls, causing the soldiers stationed atop the imposing walls of Winterfell to stir. The biting wind whipped around them, carrying with it a flurry of snowflakes that danced in the air. The guards swiftly sprang into action, working together to unlock the massive double gates that stood guard at the entrance to the fortress. With a loud creaking sound, the gates slowly began to swing open, the accumulated snow on top of them tumbling down in a cascade of white powder. As the gates opened wider and wider, the crisp winter air rushed in, bringing with it a sense of anticipation and excitement.

The sound of hooves echoed through the streets as the party rode through the bustling town, drawing curious onlookers from every corner. The crowd grew thicker and more excited as the riders neared the entrance, their colorful banners and ornate attire a stark contrast to the drab surroundings of the North. Finally, the inner gates swung open, and the party rode triumphantly into the vast courtyard of Winterfell.

As Aenar rode his pony into the bustling courtyard, he felt a sense of pride and determination wash over him. Despite the countless eyes upon him, he kept his head held high, exuding confidence and grace. His gaze scanned the sea of faces before him, taking in the various expressions and emotions of the crowd. Soon he found the person he knew to be Lord Stark; the man was as big as a bear.

The crowd almost ran away in fear as the six large dragons flew over Winterfell; the majestic creatures soared through the air with their enormous wings, casting long shadows over the crowd. Gasps of amazement mixed with whispers of apprehension as the dragons unleashed a deafening roar that echoed across the land. The villagers, awestruck yet terrified, stood frozen in fear as the dragons descended upon them, causing the ground to shake beneath their feet. The dragons' scales glimmered in the sunlight as they circled above, their piercing eyes scanning the faces of the onlookers.

Aenar wondered where Dreamfyre was, soon concluding that Gael's dragon was probably resting in the forest. Meanwhile, the Starks stood stoically, seemingly unfazed by the sight of the six dragons soaring overhead. Their eyes followed the dragons' every move, but they remained calm and collected as if they were accustomed to the presence of such magnificent beasts.

Aenar's attention turned to his uncle. The man looked like a warrior despite his age. His face carried respect.

A hush fell over the crowd as the doors of the grand Wheehouses swung open, and the regal figures of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne emerged into the sunlight. All in attendance, from the lowliest peasant to the highest lord, immediately dropped to their knees in a show of reverence and respect for the monarchs. The sound of rustling fabric and soft murmurs filled the air as everyone bent their knee, their heads bowed in deference to the royal couple. It was a moment of profound humility and devotion, a demonstration of the unyielding loyalty the people of the realm held for their rulers. Only when the king himself gave the signal did the crowd slowly rise to their feet, their eyes still fixed on the majestic figures before them.

As Aenar dismounted his pony, his parents told him to walk with them as they approached his grandfather.

As Aenar gazed upon the towering figure before him, he couldn't help but feel intimidated by the man's sheer size and presence. Standing almost two meters tall, the man was as massive as a bear, with broad shoulders and muscular arms that seemed to ripple with every movement he made. His long, dark beard hung down to his chest in an unkempt tangle, framing his chiseled jawline and giving him a wild, untamed appearance. But it was the man's eyes that truly gave Aenar pause - cold and piercing, they seemed to bore into his very soul, conveying a sense of ruthless determination and unforgiving strength that was as unyielding as the frozen wastelands of the North itself.

Once Benjen Stark saw his daughter approaching with who he knew to be her husband, Prince Daemon, and their son Prince Aenar, he opened up his arms.

Benjen couldn't help but smile at the sight of his beloved daughter, now a grown woman, holding her own family close.

"Father, it's good to see you again."

"Daughter, you look healthy and happy. Brings me joy to see you." Benjen spoke with a deep voice, looking at Lyanna from up close with a kind smile, his attention turning to Prince Daemon, standing beside Lyanna.

"I hope you find Winterfell to your liking, Prince Daemon." The man spoke respectfully, shaking the prince's hand.

"Quite a beautiful castle you have, my lord. It might be cold, but I see the appeal to it." Daemon spoke respectfully before pushing Aenar forward, who looked up at Benjen.

With a twinkle in his eye and a warm smile on his face, Benjen crouched down to meet him at eye level. As he took in the sight of the child before him, Benjen couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance to his daughter, Lyanna. The young boy's dark hair was a clear indication of his Stark heritage, but there was something about his eyes that betrayed his Targaryen bloodline.

"You must be my grandson," Benjen spoke softly, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "Your resemblance to your mother is uncanny, but there's no mistaking the Targaryen look in you."

"Yes, Lord Stark. I'm Aenar Targaryen." Aenar spoke, straightening himself in front of the lord, he didn't know the man, but he could see the similarities between Benjen and Lord Eddard Stark.

"No need for that, young Stark. Just call me Grandfather." The man spoke softly before standing up and addressing his daughter.

"You must be tired from the journey. Please come in. I really want to hear everything you have to tell me about the South."

If you want to read the following 15 Chapters, Check Out the LINK Above

Let me know in the comments what you think about the Chapter. I hope you have a Wonderful Day.