Chapter 4: Dragon in the North

Spear propped against his side, the sentry jerked up from where he rested. Eyes narrowed as he peered into the swirling snow. Nothing, just the still forms of the trees of the Haunted Forest assaulted by the howling winds of the blizzard.

Easing back against the tree, the young Thenn still was tense. He had grown up on the sounds of the wind… the little echo hadn't been that. While the blizzard provided needed cover for their warriors, but if they couldn't see worth a damn…

He didn't see the flash charge out from the undergrowth until it was on him. Not even a scream… just a growl followed by the ripping gurgle of sharp teeth ripping through flesh.

Blood covering his muzzle, the direwolf sniffed the air before throwing his head back and letting out a quick howl. A signal for all clear.

Dark grey cloak pulled tightly round his shoulders, the figure of a northern warrior trotted through the snow. Hand reaching out to scratch between the white beast's ear. "Good boy, Blizzard." The direwolf merely nuzzled the proffered hand.

Other hand not far from his sword, Brandon Stark removed the hood obscuring his raven black hair. Ears keen, he swiveled his head - trying to spot his fellow scout in the maelstrom around him. It obscured his vision just as he did the Thenn Blizzard dispatched. Damn it… where is he…

The black blur cutting through the snow eased his tension considerably. Especially at the other grey-cloaked figure behind it. "Fuck, where were you?" Brandon hissed - while it sounded like a whisper, in the howling wind a should could be masked.

"Those scouts travelled in a pair." Emblazoned in black over the cloak was the revealing three-headed dragon. It was eminently visible as Prince Maegor Targaryen sheathed his sword. "They're not as attentive as usual… or perhaps we're simply getting better at this."

"Aye… one of us at least." The dour prince scowled at the taunt before the barest of smirks crossed his lips, Brandon laughed… that was practically a guffaw from the infamous Maegor Targaryen, and the Stark heir was one of the few Maegor trusted with it.

The young dragon was as fiery as the beast on his sigil, and his time in the North only added a cold ice to it. Flexing his fingers, he gently petted the black direwolf's neck. "We can't be far from the Wall."

Brandon nodded. "If the sentries are posted here, then they're definitely forming a screen." Many described the wildlings as savages, but stupid they weren't. "Come on. Better find them before they manage to climb over. Father won't be happy at that."

"Your father's in King's Landing with my parents… and I'd rather face him than your uncle."

"Quite true. Blizzard, come."

Maegor pulled a bow from where it was slung on his back, keeping an arrow ready. "Sȳndor, with me." The black direwolf bobbed her head for her unlikely master before bounding ahead in the snow.

With an agility quite out of place for his strong build, Maegor leapt and trudged through the snowdrifts alongside Brandon, his cloak tight around his shoulders. They darted between the trees, every so often ducking behind one while the direwolves scouted ahead. It was a technique learned in the wolfswood in hunting big game. Maegor supposed that they were hunting the most dangerous game, though not as enjoyable.

It wasn't fun when the game attacked back.

Even through the swirling vortex of ice and snow around the pine canopy, the greatest wonder of the manmade world loomed large. Taller than even the Hightower of the Citadel or the Colossus of Braavos, Maegor had been quite taken aback the first time he bore witness to the Wall. Such ended quickly once he knew just how often the wildlings breached it, most by climbing. With word coming that the Thenn clan were plotting a mass raid into the Gift and the lorships to the south of it, Lord Commander Hoare - currently past his eightieth nameday - requested aid from Winterfell. Brandon Snow subsequently brought the two of them, so here they were. Ranging north of the Wall. Got old pretty quick, but Maegor valued it.

For more reasons than one.

The gap in the trees approaching, suddenly a rather feminine hand tapped against Maegor's shoulder. Sword still drawn, he instead lashed out with a gloved fist… only to still at the ice-blonde hair that poked from under her hood. "Ralla."

"Greetings to you, too," the wildling grinned at the Prince, motioning to both him and Brandon to follow her. "They've set up camp under the wall. I found a burrow to watch them from." The prospect of getting out of the wind appealed to them, the two highborns following her with the wolves in tow.

Turns out, the observation post was a burrow dug out from underneath the root of a large pine. Ralla had draped a bleached white mammoth hide over it, blocking out the wind and covering all but the entrance and small slit to watch out over the wall - it was situated on a tiny ridge, so their vision was good. "Thank the gods," Maegor breathed, rubbing his hands together. "Glad to be out of that."

Brandon scoffed, pulling out a sliver of dried beef from his knapsack. "If you had hatched that dragon egg like your father insisted, we could be flying over and burning these savages… no offense," he remarked to their guide.

Ralla rolled her eyes. "Fuck off, Stark." Growing up north of the wall allowed her to fit right in to the rough and tumble world of young southern warriors. "Dragon egg, my Prince? " The last was quite teasing.

"My brother hatched his dragon when I was still young," he explained, tearing through his own rations while dropping one sliver for Sȳndor to chew on. Her black fur matched her name, Valyrian for shadow, while her body warmth helped ease the numbness in his limbs. "Father wanted me to as well, but I couldn't."

"Why not? From what you said about your brother, you're far more a dragon than he." Since they had met, Maegor found it easy to confide in her. "Couldn't hatch one?" Naturally, she leaned her head on his shoulder.

Wasn't just words that he confided in her with. "None of the eggs felt proper for me. I can't explain it."

"I can." Brandon drank from a canteen filled with snowmelt. "Your dragon is Balerion."

Maegor glared. "Shut it."

"Who's Balerion?" Ralla looked up at him with her blue eyes. Aside from a scar on her forehead, the hard life of the 'free folk' didn't register on her willowy face - gods help anyone that underestimated her in a fight.

Sighing, he leaned back against the packed snow walls of the burrow. "My father's dragon. The Black Dread, he who burned Harrenhal and the Ironborn King."

"You mean the lead Crow's brother? Hmm… if we free folk knew that then we'd have been more partial to you when you stumbled on our hamlet." She smirked. "Stark, not so much."

Brandon waved at her. "Just be thankful we didn't kill all of you on the spot."

"Keep dreaming, southerner. We all know who's getting the most from our alliance." Land in the Gift in exchange for scouting against the Thenns, decreed by a Prince of the Realm. Even Lord Commander Hoare couldn't go against a Targaryen's decree.

The Stark heir scoffed again before peeking out the vision slit. "I can see their camp… seem to be tending to a fire - means they won't be ascending till the morning." Burrowing close to Blizzard's side for warmth, he crossed his arms. "Wake me in two hours, then I'll take watch." Exhausted, he was asleep not one second after his last word.

Smoketrails not advisable even in the blizzard, the small fire that had been lit inside the dugout was quickly extinguished… leaving smoldering chunks of firewood that gave off a residual heat. Not nearly enough for comfort, but enough warmth to make it livable. Luckily for Maegor, he had a fellow companion that willingly melded to his side to huddle. "You never did say why you don't think you'll bond with your father's dragon," Ralla asked him, intimately draped over his chest.

Maegor looked down with an uncommon affection in his purple eyes. Few confidants he had. "My father is a strong, powerful King. He deserves Balerion as his mount." Quicksilver was far more slender and swift, which matched his brother perfectly. "Besides, a dragon can only bond with one rider for the life of the rider."

Ignorance didn't breed stupidity. Ralla was a quick study. "You could only ride him if your father dies." At his nod, she held him closer - caring for him, if not love. Maegor didn't think he knew what love was, only that his parents exemplified it. "I couldn't think of losing my own father… I made my peace with the possibility, but personally he's just always been there."

"Same." Not wishing to dwell on it further, he changed the subject. "Bran is a heavy sleeper."

While his face was still mostly flat and dour, Ralla was able to read her lover well. Seeing the sparkle in his eyes. "Filthy, filthy. Is that how they raise Princes in the south?"

"You'd be surprised." Easing her on top of him, luckily the blizzard masked most of their sounds.

Sometimes she hated her silver hair.

Darting between the intricately styled Braavosi columns of her father's manse, little Rhaena Targaryen was small and delicate enough even at eight namedays to blend into the background. A simple dress and bun made her look like one of the servants, someone that the guests gathered tonight would stridently avoid.

Such happened to a young boy carrying a tray of goblets, completely ignored by a cluster of heavily drinking Reach knights. It was the mark of a true highborn to never look a servant in the eye. Rhaena, hidden behind a curtain, would have been able to take advantage of that… if not for her hair. The wavy silver gave her away like a brand - if she was to escape the clutches of her nursery and the ridiculous games her little brothers wanted to play, the eldest born grandchild of King Aegon I Targaryen had to sneak around.

Luckily for her, she was good at it. Escaping the glances of the guests through agile maneuvering, strategic cover, and a few servants looking the other way for their beloved little Princess, Rhaena managed to crawl beneath one of the tables where plates of finger-food rested - pastries, fresh shrimp and oysters, and loaves of fresh bread. Such gave her the perfect vantage point to hear the various conversations around her.

With his ascension into maturity, Crown Prince Aenys Targaryen was thrust out from his chambers in the Aegonfort into authority of his own. Officially the Lord of Dragonstone, the merry Prince shunned the harsh Valyrian black stone and militaristic air in favor of his newly build manse along the east slope of what was increasingly being called 'Rhaenys' Hill.' It was a large, sprawling villa built in the style of Braavos or Pentos - airy and filled with art and stylistic architecture, illuminated with light. It was the talk of the nobility of Westeros, at least those that were interested in the finer elements of life. Given the King and Queen's shunning of such displays, the feasts often held by the Crown Prince were the social events of the season and all who could attend did attend.

Tonight was no exception. Through the throngs of plump Lords, dashing knights, and blushing maidens - the female serving girls groped by those knights and Lords deep in their cups were flushed for different reasons - Rhaena quickly found her father. Tall and thin, Aenys nevertheless held a brilliant smile framed by his free-flowing silver curls. Her mother by his side, he laughed at something said by Lord Daeron Qoherys, one of his closest friends. A servant topped off his goblet with deference, which he accepted with sincerity. Rhaena smiled… she loved her father dearly.

"And it was said that the clouds above the Starry Sept broke as soon as the High Septon made the appointment," Aenys recounted, the various Lords of the Crownlands gathered around him listening with rapt attention. "Through a skylight in the ceiling of the building, a beam of sunlight descended and bathed dear Murmison and only him." The merry Prince wrapped an arm around his friend the new Chief Septon for King's Landing. "Fortuitous as any omen could be, and I knew I had to hold this feast in his honor."

Claps and well-wishes poured from the Lords and knights. Crown Princess Alyssa Velaryon squeezed her husband's hand, only to surreptitiously scan the crowd. Some were genuine friends of her husband, while others were mere toadies sucking up. She loved Aenys, truly she did, but Alyssa knew his tendency to see sincerity in every word of praise was not going to serve him well. She had long been resigned to that fact, especially ever since…

She shook her head. Never would Alyssa think of it. Aenys was her husband, and her love was his and duty was to him. "It is well deserved, dear Septon," she finally spoke, hand looped in her husband's and side tastefully but intimately pressed into his.

"A miracle, your Grace," remarked Tybolt Reyne, recently arrived in King's Landing and having just joined the circle round Aenys. "A sign of the Seven."

Murmison, a soft man not much older than his friend and longtime companion the Prince but nevertheless sporting a slight paunch, waved off the praise humbly. "An omen I cannot say, that is for the chief Auger to declare. But a miracle I don't believe it is."

"Balderdash," laughed Alyn Stokeworth. "Modest you are, but the bards will add that to the dozens of miracles you have performed in your service to the Seven… and the many more to come." Many raised their glasses to that, Aenys among them, a beaming smile on his lips.

Alyssa wasn't among them, though she drank too out of politeness. Daeron Qoherys did the same - even with their westerosi upbringing, both remained largely Valryian as their ancestors did. The Faith served a purpose, but it would never take their hearts.

Neither would they go as far as Queen Vsenya as repudiating it though.

For Daeron's nephew Gargon, he needed no excuse to drink. "Uncle!" he called out, pushing himself through the throng of people and almost knocking some over - beside him was his… companion. She looked highborn, but was most likely a courtesan. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you."

Daeron offered a look of apology to Alyssa before planting a forced smile on his face. "Yes, nephew? I told you I was speaking with his Grace."

"Didn't find Aenys till now." Some stiffened at his intemperance.

Aenys, the cheery charmer he was, chuckled it off. "Oh Gargon, my dear friend. You need not worry. I shan't ever get in the way of family discussions. You have my leave, Daeron."

"No," Gargon replied, letting his hand fall upon the breast of his companion - the Lords looked in barely concealed disgust. They at least wait till private to indulge in such banality with their servants or whores. Alyssa hated them all. "I shall stay. I wish to congratulate Murmison for this glorious feast!" He laughed. "I haven't eaten so much this moon, and his Grace's feasts always have the best food."

"I can't argue with that, Ser Gargon," Lord Ronnel Arryn remarked, a boon companion of the Prince from a young age. "To Murmison. May he perform many miracles to come." Another toast rang out.

Lavender eyes falling upon Alyssa's sea green, Aenys nodded slightly. She cocked her head. Here… now? The mental question needed not be asked. Of course her husband would do this - the feast had been too grand even for Murmison. "Lords and Ladies," he called out, tenor's voice projecting outward. At their Prince's call, the musicians stopped playing and all eyes found their way to him - including little Rhaena's from under the table. "I must confess to poor Murmison here, not to discount his wondrous accomplishment." He actually did look sheepish and apologetic. "But I had an ulterior motive for arranging this feast." Beaming, he walked to Alyssa and placed his hand on her belly. "I shall be a father for a fourth time."

If the cheers were loud for Murmison, they were ecstatic for this announcement. From Daeron, Alyn, and Ronnel came hearty calls of genuine congratulation, while Gargon belted out a whoop and lifted both the Prince and Princess in his meaty arms. Underneath the table, Rhaena found her mood soar. Another sibling. She bit her lip so that the smile wouldn't rip her face.

I hope it's a baby sister. Aegon and Viserys were dear to her, but she could use a little girl to play properly with. Samantha Stokeworth was fun, but she wasn't blood.

"Can you believe this frivolity?" She stiffened, the hushed voice of the booted foot that approached the refreshment table indicating someone with something to hide. "All of this for Septon Murmison's appointment to the Sept of Remembrance."

"What can you expect, Ser Morrigan?" Rhaena didn't know who that was… but he sounded important. "Murmison was always a confidant of our Crown Prince."

With a growl, the other man picked up something from the table, scarfing it in his mouth. "Morgan, he is a Septon of the Seven," he said through chews. "He should be rejecting such idolatrous shit."

"Careful, Damon. People can listen."

"There's no one around," he dismissed. "And another dragon brat - aren't three of the fuckers enough for the incest-spawn?"

With that, the man was gone, followed by his companion. Unseen underneath the table, Rhaena drew her knees to her chest. Why do they say bad things about kepa? Her Kepa was the most perfect man in the world, him and her grandfather.

For the eight nameday old princess, there were no answers forthcoming.

Meanwhile, by popular demand and his own sense of romance, Aenys drew his wife to the center of the great hall. At his command, the band began playing a soft melody, Aenys' eyes sparkling. "This is for you, dearest wife." She blinked as he began singing a love song from Lys - it wasn't bawdy, as the Crown Prince held not a bawdy bone in his body, but sweet and gentle. Celebrating the life she was now carrying.

There was silence in the hall, all eyes watching them with smiles both fake and real. At each new lyric Alyssa blushed, unable not to enjoy it. His naivete may have been insufferable at times, but the dragon Prince had truly swept her off her feet - as long as she chose to look that is. Alyssa always looked, not that the rule had been followed fastidiously in the past as now.

Suddenly there was a collective hush in the crowd, one Aenys failed to see from over his shoulder… but Alyssa did. Lords and ladies drew back as if water parting, and it wasn't long before she saw why.

Hand of the King Torrhen Stark by his side, in walked Aegon I Targaryen, First of His Name. And he did not look happy.

Alyssa tapping her husband on the shoulder, at her gesture behind him Aenys turned… his eyes widened slightly at seeing the King. "Father." He bowed, though was quite happy. "I am so glad you've decided to join us. Is mother here too?"

Frown not leaving his face, Aegon merely shook his head as he walked towards his son. "No, your muna…" He let it hang for a moment - while he adored Quicksilver, in all other respects Aenys had adopted the mannerisms and speech of an Andal highborn given his proximity to many septons and maesters. Neither monarch liked it. "Had pressing business to deal with at Storm's End. She may have stayed had you told us about our newest grandchild." Gaze falling upon Torrhen Stark, he shrugged. "Tell me, Lord Torrhen. Do you find it odd that the guests of a feast were told first about the new hatchling over myself and Queen Visenya?"

Aenys gulped, while Alyssa wished herself to be anywhere else. The King loved his sons, but came down hard on their shortcomings. Maegor's temper and callousness were beaten out by his Northern teachers, while with Aenys… lessons needed to be taught in less direct ways.

"I would be quite insulted, your Grace," the Lord of Winterfell replied. Brown hair now streaked with grey, he still retained his strength and sharpness. As the one Lord who knelt willingly to House Targaryen, he commanded much respect among the true loyalists.

The Prince had the sense to look apologetic, though with Aenys he had absolutely no guile. Everything he said or displayed was sincere. "Forgive me, father. I should have told you and mother." With that, the King softened.

"Why quibble about when and fuckin' where?!" Gargon Qoherys displayed his customary lack of tact. "Come, my King. Let's fuckin' drink and be merry!"

Torrhen scowled. "He is your King. You will speak to him with respect."

Gargon regarded him like an insect. "Get fucked, wolfie. No one asked you shit."

"I believe he is 'Lord Hand,' or 'Lord Stark,' to you, Ser Gargon," Aegon remarked in a quiet voice. One to any that associated with him could be described as dangerous. "Do you know what you are?"

"Father… let's not do this here…" Aenys began, striding forward.

Aegon held up a hand, pointing at him. "Stay right there, my son." His gaze fell on Gargon. "You are a disgrace to your grandfather, the man I owe everything to. He taught me to fight and be honorable, while you just grow fat and stupid on his legacy."

Face reddening with anger, Gargon's fists clenched. "King you may be, but you can't fucking speak to me like that, old man."

"Old man?" There was a silence before Aegon suddenly broke out into laughter. "Old man he says." The laughter grew infectious, most of the courtiers following the King's lead - even Gargon in his stupidity. Aenys looked confused, while Alyssa and Torrhen wore smirks on their faces, waiting for what was to come.

Aegon didn't keep them waiting. With speed, his fist shot out and jabbed Gargon in the neck. The hulking knight began coughing and sputtering, to which the King took advantage of and kneed him in the groin.

It was over before anyone could speak a word. "Lord Daeron."

"Yes, your Grace."

"Get your nephew out of my sight before I do something I regret." The Lord of Harrenhal nodded and quickly hauled up the groaning Gargon - helped by some of his sworn knights.

Satisfied at that, Aegon looked at the guests. "Well, do go on. Celebrate my new grandchild." There was a collective silence before one guest, the nephew of Lord Tully, raised his glass with a shout of support. The party was back in full swing soon after. Torrhen following, Aegon approached his son. "Aenys, you are my son and I love you, but do not ever talk back or speak against me in front of others again, understood?" His words left no room for argument.

The Crown Prince trembled. "Yes, father."

Shouting only exasperating the swirling thoughts, Rhaena had withdrawn into herself. Resting in a ball on the ground, she couldn't help but play back the conversation she had heard. How could those men say such things of her father? Of her grandfather and blood grandmother, the one whom her Aunt Rhaenys was named after. The girl had lived a cloistered life, spoiled by her father and taught by her mother and Maester Gawen… the most beloved maiden in the seven kingdoms besides her aunt.

The dark side of humanity wasn't something familiar to her.

Suddenly the drape that covered the table was drawn back, causing her to jump with a yelp. "Well hello there."

Rhaena's heart calmed at seeing her smiling grandfather - all traces of the indomitable conqueror had disappeared, leaving a jolly elder delighting at finding his granddaughter. "Hi, grandfather," she said softly.

"What are you doing down here?" She bit her lip, which seemed to add a wistful sparkle to Aegon's gaze. "Just like Visenya, you are. Methinks you want to be with the grown ups. Come on, you can be my companion tonight."

"Really? But mother…"

He waved her off. "She can't disobey her King. Come on." Nothing sounded better to the Princess than spending the night by her grandfather's side.

Inch by inch, foot by foot. Slowly did Maegor crawl his way through the snowdrifts. The cold stabbed through even his thick furs and fleece, all the worse given his dragonblood - the Valyrian wasn't meant to live in such cold, and yet here it was.

As Brandon Snow taught him, he let the discomfort and ire fuel his inner fire. The only way he could win.

By some miracle the blizzard had cleared up overnight, though Maegor considered it a curse. While the cold was less biting - the wind less tortuous - visibility had increased and with it their best cover. For the treeless gap between the haunted forest and the Wall, they would need to approach cautiously… thus the slow crawl. A white tarp covered him as he advanced, not the best camouflage but better than nothing.

A low whimper came from beside him. Apparently there was a breaking point even for direwolves. "Easy, girl, easy." His voice was a low whisper, but somehow Sȳndor understood him. A bond similar to that of Brandon and Blizzard… or his parents and brother with their dragons. Maegor had long come to accept the curious case of a northern beast bonding to a Valyrian. His mother felt it a combination of destiny and the innate connection between those of magical blood, but he didn't understand such talk, a far more practical man.

The Starks respected him far more for it, so who was he to reject the loyalty and love of the furry creature? Maegor certainly appreciated and loved her back.

Somewhere out there were Brandon, Blizzard, and Ralla, each inching forward just as he was. Their three warriors and two direwolves were nowhere near enough for the two dozen Thenns ready to climb the enchanted wall of ice and rock that protected the realms of men, but that was not the plan. All hinged on something they did not have any control or knowledge about, but as the snow fell upon them the signal would become apparent if it…

The wind may have been loud, but with the blizzard lessened the whoops and gallops were easily heard. Head up, Maegor could see the Thenns all stop their preparations, bodies tensing as many pointed towards the east. Following their line of sight, Maegor grinned.

Half a dozen horses charging across the plains, the black-clad brothers of the Night's Watch swinging swords and axes atop their mounts. Among them were sprinkled another dozen ragged wildling… no, 'Free Folk' warriors of Ralla's band, holding up their other end of the bargain by wading into the fight. The ambush worked like a charm, the Thenns undoubtedly focused more on the western approach from Castle Black and not the east - complete surprise.

Time for the three scouts to enhance that. Slowly drawing his bow, Maegor suddenly popped up from the snow. He nocked an arrow and let it fly, smirking darkly as it skewered a Thenn warrior before he let himself fall prone again - letting the chaos further brew.

"Fuck!" Ralla… "We're spotted!"

Well, that was that. Sȳndor, go! Erupting to his feet, he let loose another arrow towards the Thenns before drawing his longsword - the blade looking quite small in his large grip - and charged into the fray. Already he could see Sȳndor and Blizzard bounding ahead of them, growls and snarls leaving their mouths all the way. The forty yard distance was covered quickly by the direwolves as they leapt on the surprised Thenns. Flashes of blood began to coat the snow.

Ralla giving them covering fire from her bow, Brandon and Maegor engaged the Thenns - who by now were starting to focus on slaughtering them. A large warrior with a battle axe swung at Maegor, but the Prince jumped to the side and buried his blade into the man's side with a thrust. He toppled with a grunt, while two others booked at Maegor. Bigger than the two of them, he countercharged right for them, fist flying in a right hook that staggered the Thenn in the van. He fell, only for Sȳndor to sink teeth into his neck as he screamed.

Sword up, Maegor turned to face the second man when an arrow smacked into his temple. He angrily turned to see Ralla. "I had the fucker."

The Free Folk huntress grinned and bowed mockingly. "Sure you did, my Prince."

Looking around, the itched fighting had quieted down… all that remained were the groans of wounded men and the grunts of horses. Blizzard trotted up, fur streaked with blood, nuzzling Sȳndor's neck as the two of them sniffed at each other. And where Blizzard was… "Got em all," Brandon said, not a scratch on him. They really did take the Thenns by surprise. "Cept those fuckers up there." He pointed to the wall, where two others were free-scaling the ice.

"I got em," Ralla remarked, nocking her bow.

"Not letting you take the last kill," muttered Maegor, also drawing his bow. The arrows flew at the same time, both hitting in the center mass. "Now it's over."