The White Knight[Asoiaf Si]

112 AC

Dragonstone

Ulf Pov

Three years had passed since I found myself in the unfamiliar world of Westeros. Life, as a baby, was mostly mundane—filled with simple tasks like eating, sleeping, and occasional bouts of crying. However, despite my young age, I began to realize that my mind too had regressed, aligning with my infant body. I experienced waves of deep sadness followed by overwhelming joy whenever I caught a glimpse of my beloved mother.

The bond between us was unlike anything I had ever known. Her silver-blonde hair cascaded down to her shoulders, her eyes as pale as lilacs. She possessed an hourglass figure that seemed untouched by childbirth. The love I felt for her surpassed any emotions I had previously experienced. The word "mother" held a profound significance, one that could never be adequately expressed in words.

Though my father was a distant figure in my life, his absence mattered little to me. Simply having one parent was a treasure compared to the complete lack of parental love I had endured in my previous life. Curiosity about my father's identity lingered in my mind, but I refrained from questioning my mother, and she never revealed the truth. I remember the day I took my first steps vividly.

It was my first nameday, and my mother had brought me a slice of lemon cake from the kitchen. As soon as I saw her, a determined spirit sparked within me, and I began to tentatively walk towards her. She nearly dropped the cake in surprise before placing it down and pulling me into a tight embrace. I could feel her tears on my small forehead, and I reached out with my stubby fingers to wipe them away, prompting a gentle laugh from her. She showered me with kisses, to which I could only surrender, and my heart overflowed with warmth.

As a kitchen maid, my mother kept me in the company of children my age in a makeshift creche for the servants' offspring. However, I rarely engaged with the other children, as their motor skills were still underdeveloped. Instead, I found myself captivated by the tapestries adorning the black stone walls of Dragonstone, each one telling a story from the realm's history.

But the highlight of my day came when my mother would weave bedtime tales to lull me to sleep. She recounted the legends of Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives, the magnificent dragons that once roamed Dragonstone, and, above all, the notion that the blood of these mighty creatures coursed through our veins. Yet, my favorite part was when she sang the song of "The Good Queen Alysanne." Following the song, she would kiss me good night, and we would drift off to sleep, me nestled close to her side.

We frequently visited the sept of Dragonstone, where my mother made me sit and listen to the sermons of the elderly septon. However, the true highlight of those outings was our visit to Aegon's garden—an enchanting place filled with towering dark trees, wild roses, and imposing thorny hedges. The air carried a pleasant pine scent, though I yearned to see a weirwood tree, which had piqued my curiosity.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and soon enough, three years had passed since I arrived in this world. It was then that I decided to put my master plan into action, aiming to make myself known to Maester Gerardys. After bidding my mother goodbye, who kissed me affectionately before heading to the kitchen to work, I stealthily slipped away from the young babysitters who were scarcely more than children themselves.

With a purposeful stride, I made my way to the Stone Drum tower, where the painted table was housed. The quarters of Maester Gerardys resided there too. Tentatively, I knocked on the door, and to my relief, the kind maester's voice called me in.

As I entered his solar, I found Maester Gerardys hunched over a large tome, engrossed in his studies. "Ulf, my boy, what brings you here?" he inquired, his tone filled with curiosity.

"Well, Maester Gerardys, I've been feeling bored just sitting around, so I thought perhaps I could come and see the books you have," I replied softly, keeping my gaze fixed on the ground.

He chuckled at my response and approached me, ruffling my hair affectionately. "You know, boy, when I was your age, I too had an insatiable thirst for knowledge. I see that same spark in you," he said, meeting my eyes directly.

Realizing this was my moment to make an impression, I mustered my courage and recited a line I had borrowed from my favorite yet-to-be-born dwarf. "I wish to learn, Maester Gerardys. A mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone if it is to keep its edge."

Gerardys was taken aback, his astonishment evident on his face. After a few moments of contemplation, he scooped me up and settled me on his lap. He began teaching me about the Westerosi script, and I became completely absorbed in the art of reading. The world around me faded as I delved into the world of words.

"Ulf, you cheeky brat, I've been searching everywhere for you!" My mother's voice cut through the air, interrupting our lesson. For the first time, I saw a serious expression on her face, and I laughed nervously, glancing at Gerardys, who had conveniently found himself gazing out of the window—what a traitor.

After enduring a long lecture about how frightened she was when I disappeared from the great hall of Stone Drum, my mother embraced me tightly, demanding that I never run off without informing her. I nodded earnestly, and she instructed me to close my eyes. When I reopened them, a massive tome, nearly half my size, greeted my gaze. Its title read, "Dragons, Wyrms, and Wyverns: Their Unnatural History."

Overwhelmed by the sight of the book adorned with three intricately drawn dragons, I rushed into my mother's arms, clinging to her tightly while repeatedly expressing my love for her.

That night, as she prepared me for sleep, she told me a story about her time caring for the good queen when she visited Dragonstone. My eyes sparkled with fascination as she spoke of the queen's kindness towards her, recounting how she had been by her side until her final breath.

As slumber claimed me that night, vivid dreams invaded my mind. I witnessed a man clad in white armor, his body bleeding profusely, surrounded by woodland creatures in front of a colossal tower. Suddenly, a shrouded dragon materialized, rescuing the man and setting the entire forest ablaze. Before I could discern the dragon's features clearly, I awoke, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding.

Thankfully, my mother still slept soundly, oblivious to my restless awakening. From that night onward, my thoughts began to drift towards the mighty Dragonmont, leading me towards a fateful confrontation two years later.

No matter how many years passed, I would always remember that day—the day I lost the most important person in the world and gained a dragon, the day I lost my mother.