A Hungry Dragon

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Chapter 10 (The Princess and The Bastard), Chapter 11 (Purple Eyes and Hidden Blades), Chapter 12 (Little Birds, Little Whispers), Chapter 13 (Empty Graves and Winter Tales), Chapter 14 (The Kingslayer's Honor), Chapter 15 (Whispers in the Water Garden), and Chapter 16 (For Elia's Shadow) are already available for Patrons.

Winterfell - Two Weeks Later

Rhaenys

"I'm just imagining this," she told herself for the tenth time. She tried to forget about his voice.

She was missing her Kepa too much, and this boy was simply good at singing; yes, that's all there was to it. She was missing her old life, and her mind had decided to play a cruel game, making her believe that this boy was somehow connected to her father. Since she woke up, Rhaenys had been struggling with what she heard, but she reminded herself that there was no chance of this boy being related to her. It was impossible. She reminded herself of what the Starks had done to her family. They would all BURN in the end.

So why are you having Dragon Dreams with him? A voice spoke in her head, but she ignored it. This boy, whoever he was, was nothing to her; he was nothing. He was just the bastard son of the man who was part of the Rebellion that destroyed her life. He's nothing to me, she repeated again.

Eddard Stark, Robert Baratheon, Tywin Lannister. She would kill them all herself. She would bring the rage of Dragons to them, and she wouldn't allow herself to get confused like this ever again. This boy. He was just good at singing. That's all. There was nothing else. She was sure that if she heard someone else sing, she would think the same of them, too.

Yes, that's it, Rhaenys thought with a smile of triumph. All she needed was to find another singer and listen to them. She was sure she would have the same reaction as she did with that bastard of Eddard Stark.

"Who are you?"

"I am Jon Snow."

'Stop it,' she screamed at herself, her mind replaying that moment in her head as if the gods were making fun of her. She took a deep breath and reminded herself where she needed to go.

She strode along the long corridor in haste. Her dark-purple eyes looked at Ser Gorald Sand and Ser Jokan Sand, the two guards of the Main Hall of Sunspear, who had olive skin and long black beards, wearing armor with boiled leather underneath, with gaps around their eyes, armpits, and waists.

"They are waiting inside, my lady," Ser Gorald said respectfully as he opened the door for her. She strode inside with her head held high. She was a princess of House Targaryen and always showed grace, even when it was something as simple as walking.

'Someone with power shows it even when they walk,' she remembered her Uncle Oberyn's words to her.

She noticed her favorite uncle looking at a map flattened on a table. Her older uncle was sitting on the Sun Throne. Areo Hotah stood beside her uncle, as always, the captain of the guards of Sunspear.

Areo was broad-shouldered, with white hair that was once dark and a seamed and scarred face.

He was wearing a shirt of copper scales with a billowing cloak of dun-and-yellow sand silk to keep the sun off the copper. The sun beating down on the metal of his Norvoshi half-helm caused him headaches. Areo's long axe had a shaft of mountain ash six feet long and was kept in a sling across his back.

"Good morrow, Princess," Areo greeted her as she walked deeper into the hall, with her uncle sparing her a look before looking back at the map.

"Why was I called here, Uncle Doran?" she asked as Oberyn gave her a hug, and she turned to face Uncle Doran, looking up at his fragile form, who remained in his seat. His knees were too weak to walk much, and Rhaenys knew that sometimes, Areo had to carry him around.

She never said it out loud, but in her mind, Oberyn appeared more of a leader than her older uncle ever did. He was fragile and weak, but Oberyn had told her that his brother had a sharp mind. Rhaenys had yet to see that, and so far, Uncle Doran was just a man who spent his time sitting and shitting on his Sun Throne.

"The Greyjoys have declared themselves an independent kingdom. Balon Greyjoy has declared himself King of the Iron Islands," her uncle announced, and Oberyn snorted with mockery.

"That man is as smart as a rock, and just like rocks, he will sink along with the little islands he calls home," Oberyn commented with a sneer.

Rhaenys felt her anger flare up at the mention of the Ironborn. She remembered the Stark bastard telling her that they attacked Sansa Stark, and the thought of that boy only made her anger roar like a dragon in her heart. She didn't want to think of him. He was just a bastard, she told herself again.

Her mind went back to the Ironborn. They were nothing but worms, but she wondered why they would decide to rebel like this. Robert Baratheon had married Cersei Lannister, whose father was Tywin Lannister, and if that wasn't enough, the King had his loyal dog in the North, and the dog was married to the fish of House Tully, and the Hand of the King was Jon Arryn. The man would fight for his foster son. She doubted that Balon Greyjoy was truly foolish enough to think he could keep his crown for long, which made this whole rebellion make no sense. Either Balon Greyjoy was one of the stupidest leaders in Westerosi's history, or she was missing something.

"Why would they decide to rebel against the Iron Throne?" Rhaenys questioned, feeling like there was something more, something she wasn't being told.

"The Greyjoys have always been fools, my niece. I wouldn't bother much with why they decided to rebel," her uncle said from behind with an idle tone. To him, it didn't really matter why the Greyjoys decided to rebel against the throne.

"What will Dorne do?" Rhaenys asked with a sharp look, ignoring Oberyn's comment.

Her uncle coughed, pulling out a handkerchief to cover his mouth as he coughed more. Once he stopped, he put it back inside his pocket and leaned back against the Throne, looking down at his niece. "I'm afraid Dorne cannot use this opportunity to attack the Throne. Dorne doesn't have the best naval fleet. I'm really sorry, my dear niece. But all we can do is hope that any of the key players in this game will die in this rebellion," her uncle said, sounding genuinely saddened. Rhaenys almost sneered but stopped herself.

'A good player never reveals what they think,' her uncle's words repeated in her head.

"I see. Is there anything else I should know?" Rhaenys asked with a blank expression.

"No, my niece. You can leave, but tomorrow, I want you to come with me and my daughters. I want to show you something," her favorite uncle said with a smile, and she merely nodded before leaving the hall. She knew where she needed to go.

The Docks

Rhaenys stood out of sight, wearing a hood and making sure no one could notice her. A short sword was strapped to her waist as she listened to what the people at the docks were saying. This wasn't the first time she was out here, listening to people. She knew where to stay so people didn't pay attention to her. She knew what to wear so no man or woman would think of doing something stupid.

She remembered the first time she came here with Nymeria. While walking around the place, she remembered hearing that one of the Dornish ships was attacked by pirates, most likely pirates from the Iron Islands. After that day, she started practicing the art of listening. She knew how to listen well and how to make herself appear insignificant. She was far from it, but she liked to listen to people; she liked gathering information.

Information was precious—sometimes as precious as gold and silver. If only she had someone to help, her listen to people and gain information. But right now, she lacked people she could trust outside of her family, so she did the job herself.

Right now, she was listening again. She knew who the Captain of the Docks was, and she knew the man loved to complain about pirate ships, so she merely stood near a wooden beam and let her back rest against it. She had realized a long time ago that if you act confidently and without nervousness, people will not pay attention to you. You might be very close to them, but they will simply ignore you. Avoiding eye contact was the most important part of blending with the background.

She listened as the captain talked about the prices of the goods coming from Braavos and about the Stepstones. She listened and listened, but quickly noticed that the captain had yet to complain about pirates. Then he started talking about the whores of Tyrosh.

"I'm not sure. I'm thinking of sailing to Tyrosh, but I'm afraid of the pirates. They are a nasty bunch," one of them said with a quivering voice, and Rhaenys's ears perked up, but she made sure to appear like she was just making a wooden toy with a wooden knife.

"Pirates," the captain snorted, a wide grin on his face. "No worries, Brekan. There hasn't been a pirate attack for six months now. It's a miracle."

Rhaenys's knife slipped from her little fingers after hearing that, but she quickly grabbed it mid-air before it could hit the wooden dock below which was shaped like a C.

"What do you mean? They always attack at least once a week. Did they all drown, or maybe Seadragons got them?"

"Stop talking nonsense, Brekan. Seadragons are gone, just like the ones that can fly. But back to what you asked. The pirates are not attacking. I don't know if they are afraid, or maybe the gods are favoring us, but there have been no attacks on the Dornish ships. Can't say the same for everyone else. Lord Velaryon complained to me last month that his favorite ship was burned in the sea by pirates. Poor man. His family lost everything after Robert's Rebellion."

Rhaenys couldn't stay to listen more after hearing them bring up the bloody rebellion, but not that she needed to; she had almost all the information she needed. She just needed to check something else.

Night

A soft creaking sound was heard as Areo moved Prince Doran's wheelchair out of his chamber and into the Garden of the Sun, which was near the Pleasure Chamber of Sunspear.

The Pleasure Chamber was the chamber used by the rulers of Dorne and only them. If the rulers of Dorne slept in that chamber, it showed everyone that the rulers were happy and in love, while sleeping in their own chambers meant the rulers of Dorne's love was fading. If a whole month passed without showing love to one another in the Pleasure Chamber, it was seen as a bad omen. It was said that if the rulers of Dorne share a bed inside the pleasure chamber, with no love in their hearts, a curse will fall on them.

Doran enjoyed the setting sun; he watched as Rhaenys appeared from a garden corridor. She strode towards him, and for a moment, she seemed like she was there to kill him.

"Niece, what brought you here?" Doran asked with a careful voice as she walked upstairs, looking at him with a hard glare.

"I know what you did," she claimed, and Doran merely cocked an eyebrow.

"What would that be, my niece?"

"I sneaked into the Maester's chamber. I checked his monthly reports that he writes in his notebook, and you have sent ravens to the Iron Islands for the past six months, and I heard from a sailor that pirates have not attacked Dornish ships for six months now," Rhaenys said huffily.

Prince Doran didn't say anything and merely looked at his niece, waiting for her to finish.

"You promised Balon Greyjoy that you would support their rebellion; this is why they declared themselves independent. They think you will follow behind, and by the time they realize that you are not supporting them, it will be too late, and you hope the usurper will wipe them out to the last one." Rhaenys finished with a look of satisfaction, and her uncle looked up at her before slowly clapping, but so slowly that she knew he was mocking her.

"Good job, niece. I'm a little impressed you managed to find out. Not even your favorite uncle knows about my involvement," her uncle drawled, saying the word 'favorite' like it was a mockery.

Rhaenys decided to ignore his comment about Oberyn and focus on something else. "But why are you not joining? Why not announce independence and cause more havoc in Westeros?" she asked, not understanding why her uncle was letting this perfect opportunity for revenge slip through their fingers like sand.

"That is a good question, my niece. So I will ask you the same. Why would I not support them? Why would I not declare independence?" her uncle asked, giving her a long look.

Rhaenys didn't answer right away. She tried to think of a reason, any reason, why he wasn't doing anything. But... but... "You are already using this rebellion, but not to announce independence because it could make the other kingdoms seek the same thing when I sit on the Throne."

Her uncle looked pleased after hearing that as he slowly nodded. "If we were to announce independence tomorrow, it would destroy Dorne. This rebellion cannot be won, my niece. We cannot win against the forces of the Six Kingdoms. We will perish and lose thousands of good men. And announcing independence might cause the other Kingdoms to seek the same thing. If Westeros were to return to how it was before Aegon and his sister-wives, then I'm afraid there's no one here that could have enough power to mend it back together, and dragons have been gone for almost two centuries now. They will never return again," her uncle explained.

Rhaenys felt a bitter taste in her mouth at the thought of dragons never returning. It was her dream to one day fly a dragon. It was in her blood, but she knew her uncle was right. Dragons were gone, and she needed to win the Iron Throne through armies.

Her uncle had made sure to teach her the danger of thinking that one can make frozen dragon eggs break and for dragons to be born in this world once again. Uncle Oberyn had told her about the Tragedy of Summerhall, and he had made her promise that she would never lose her mind, thinking she could make a frozen dragon egg just break and have a dragon. Rhaenys had been terrified by the stories of the fire that had consumed the entire castle, and she had promised that she would never do something so foolish.

"Now, the last question, my niece. I will not send troops just to die in this rebellion, but I'm using this opportunity. Can you guess it?" Doran asked. This time, he sounded different, like this one question was more important than the last.

Rhaenys opened her mouth to answer but realized she had no answer to give. She didn't know what her uncle could do that didn't involve sending troops out there. She thought deeply but could not think of a reason. She tried to think back to see if she was missing something when she remembered something her uncle had said during the meeting.

'But all we can do is hope that any of the key players in this game will die in this rebellion.'

"You will try to have one of them killed, won't you?" Rhaenys concluded, and her uncle smiled at her—for the first time, he genuinely smiled at her wits.

"Good, and this is why you should not underestimate the man who just sits all day, my niece. Do you understand?"

Rhaenys did understand; she realized that she had underestimated her uncle. She had thought he was nothing but a weak man who knew how to eat, shit, and drink. But right now, she realized that she had been wrong. "I do, but who are you trying to have killed? Tywin Lannister?" she asked hopefully.

If that man were gone, House Lannister would be doomed. All that would be left of the Lannisters would be his siblings, who were nothing but cats near a lion, and Tywin's children were nothing like him. The Queen might be the most difficult to defeat, and then there was their golden knight, Jaime Lannister.

Rhaenys felt her blood boil at the thought of HIM. She could almost hear him, his words.

'Where is Kepa? Ser Jaime, where did Kepa go?' Rhaenys ran at Jaime as fast as her little legs could take her, tears running down her cheeks.

'He will return soon, Princess, but while he is away, I will take care of you, your Muna, and Prince Aegon.'

'Do you promise?' she asked tearfully, her arms around him.

'I do,' Jaime said, lying through his teeth with an evil smile on his face. '

Jaime had lied to her; he never protected them. Instead, he was too busy killing her grandfather to save them. She could still hear her mother's cries and the horrifying sound of... Aegon's... head... smashed... Rhaenys felt tears in her eyes; she quickly looked away, trying to wipe them away quickly.

I'm a Princess of House Targaryen. I'm brave. I'm no small girl. I'm the Blood of the Dragon. I AM NOT WEAK, she repeated in her head, breathing heavily, trying to fight the tears threatening to burst out. She swallowed hard before looking back at her uncle, her strength returning and her face blank, void of emotions.

"Who is it?"

"It's not Tywin Lannister that I want dead right now. Listen well, my dear niece. A Kingdom that is conquered can rise again and fight back, but a Kingdom that destroys itself can never rise. The one I send will make sure to put the blame on the Lannisters. A war between them will weaken our enemies. Chaos, my niece. We are one single Kingdom against six, how do we win against them? Chaos, that's how we win. They will tear each other apart like animals, and when the war ends, we will march and bring justice for your dear mother and your brother," her uncle promised with a roar like a tiger. For a moment, he sounded like Oberyn when he was angry. For the first time, she saw the fire in Uncle Doran's eyes—a fire she had never seen before.

Rhaenys understood who needed to die for this war to happen. "Eddard Stark."

The Next Day

The sun hung low over the arid landscape, casting long shadows across the desert plains of Dorne. The air was dry, filled with the scent of dust and the distant murmur of the ocean. Rhaenys Targaryen stood in the middle of the training yard, her dark hair flowing freely in the morning breeze. Her violet eyes were narrowed, focused on the figure approaching.

Nymeria Sand held her long spear in her hand. She was tall and lithe, her dark hair tied back in a tight braid that swung with each deliberate step she took. A smile played on her lips.

Rhaenys gripped her own spear tightly, its weight familiar in her hands.

"Good morrow, cousin. Ready to lose?" Nymeria said playfully, but Rhaenys didn't fall for it.

"Not this time, cousin," she claimed with a sharp look. She needed to become a better warrior. She needed to become the very best, like Visenya Targaryen was before Rhaenys Targaryen's death and everything went downhill for them. Visenya might have been a good person once, but by the end of her life, she was no better than Maegor the Cruel.

They circled each other in silence. Both women were poised, muscles coiled and ready to strike.

Nymeria was the first to move. She darted forward, her spear slicing through the air in a swift, deadly arc. Rhaenys barely had time to react, raising her own spear to parry the blow. The clash of wood echoed across the training yard as their weapons met with a sharp crack.

Rhaenys countered with a thrust of her own, aiming for Nymeria's midsection, but the Sand Snake was already spinning away, her spear whistling past Rhaenys's shoulder in a near miss. The Dragon Princess followed her with a flurry of strikes, each one more aggressive than the last, but Nymeria parried them all with practiced ease, her dark eyes gleaming with fierce enjoyment.

"You fight well, cousin," Nymeria taunted, her voice low and mocking. "But you will never win like this."

Rhaenys didn't respond with words. Instead, she shifted her stance, adjusting her grip on the spear. She had no illusions about this fight—Nymeria was more experienced, but Rhaenys had learned to survive by adapting and using every advantage she could find.

She feigned a strike to Nymeria's right, drawing the Sand Snake's spear in that direction, then twisted her body and brought the butt of her spear around in a powerful sweep. Nymeria barely managed to dodge the blow, grazing her side, but Rhaenys was already moving again, pressing her advantage. She drove Nymeria back, her strikes relentless, forcing the Dornish warrior to retreat step by step.

With a snarl, she changed tactics, abandoning her defensive stance. She lunged forward with renewed ferocity, her spear a blur of motion as she attacked with fast jabs and sweeps. Rhaenys was forced on the defensive, her spear moving almost of its own accord as she blocked and parried, every muscle in her body straining to keep up with Nymeria's speed.

The clash of their spears rang out again and again, each blow sending vibrations up Rhaenys's arms. Sweat beaded on her brow, her breathing coming in short, sharp gasps. Nymeria was relentless, her attacks coming from every direction, her movements almost too fast to follow.

She gritted her teeth and fought back with everything she had, her spear a whirlwind of motion as she matched Nymeria blow for blow.

As the battle wore on, Rhaenys began to notice something—Nymeria's attacks, while still fast and fierce, were becoming more predictable. The Dornish warrior favored her right side, her strikes always coming from a similar angle. Rhaenys narrowed her focus, waiting for the right moment.

It came in the form of a high, sweeping strike aimed at her head. Rhaenys ducked low, feeling the air whistle past her as the spear missed by inches. She spun on her heel, bringing her spear up in a vicious arc that caught Nymeria off guard. The blow connected with the Sand Snake's wrist, sending her spear flying from her grasp.

Nymeria hissed in pain, but before she could react, Rhaenys followed up with a quick thrust, the point of her spear stopping just inches from Nymeria's throat.

Nymeria stared at the spear tip, then up at Rhaenys, her breath coming in harsh gasps. For a moment, neither of them moved, locked in a silent standoff. Then, slowly, Nymeria smiled—a fierce, proud grin.

"Well fought," Nymeria said. "You've earned this victory, cousin."

Rhaenys held her gaze for a long moment, then slowly lowered her spear, stepping back to give Nymeria room to retrieve her weapon. The Sand Snake picked it up.

The two heard clapping from the side and turned their heads; it was Prince Oberyn striding toward them with a proud smile. "Good fight. Rhaenys, make sure to read your enemy's movements. If it had been someone else, you would have died when Nymeria started striking you relentlessly." Rhaenys listened to his words, still feeling bitter that she couldn't finish the fight better.

Oberyn gave Nymeria advice on what she needed to improve, but then he noticed the bitter smile on his niece's face. "What made you so gloomy, dear niece? You were almost perfect."

"Almost perfect is not perfect, is it?" she snapped at him. She quickly realized that she had shouted at her uncle for no reason.

"Niece, are you alright?"

She wasn't. Rhaenys wasn't alright. Last night, she had dreamed of him. She dreamed of his song, his voice. The gods were playing a cruel game with her. Why were they punishing her? The bastard was nothing to her. He was nothing to her. She knew that. House Stark was the enemy, and he was one of them.

"I'm fine," she said in a hollow voice, knowing no one was buying it. Even Quentyn, with his infinite wisdom, would know she was lying through her teeth.

"Very well. Come with me, and I'm not taking no for an answer," Oberyn said in a cheerful voice.

Rhaenys followed behind, despite wanting to stay and train.

It didn't take long for her to realize where they were going as they walked through the city, all wearing hoods to hide their faces, but Arianne was making it clear as she spoke loudly about the place they would visit.

Before them stood a three-story building made of sun-baked mud bricks, their earthen hues blending seamlessly with the golden sands surrounding it. The walls were thick to keep the heat out while keeping the warmth inside during the cold nights.

Rhaenys could hear the moans from inside and outside the pleasure house.

As her cousins walked in, her uncle stepped closer to her. "Why did you bring us here?" she asked in a hushed tone, not stepping inside. Her uncle placed his hand on her shoulder and kneeled down to whisper in her ear.

"Rhaenys, I want you to watch your cousins and Arianne. Pleasure is a big part of every man's and woman's life. Wars have started because of beautiful women. Some say the first Blackfyre Rebellion started because Princess Daenerys Targaryen chose someone else. Shiera Seastar is still remembered as the most beautiful woman to have ever lived in Westeros, and lives were lost because of her beauty. Tourneys and battles were arranged by lords thinking they could steal her heart. Rhaenys, you need to understand that as a woman, you will have different tools in your hands to achieve what you want."

"I will not spread my legs every time I need alliances," Rhaenys hissed, glaring up at him.

"That's not what I meant, niece. But you need to realize that you should learn how to use your beauty when you grow up. Seduction is a powerful weapon that beautiful women have, and even if you never use it to get what you want, you need to learn how to be immune to a boy's or a girl's flattery. Their sweet words and promises of friendship can deceive you. I know you are still young, but when you grow up, you will start craving new things, and love can be an amazing feeling and the most dangerous poison. You need to watch and learn. In this world, you need to know how to use all your tools. Now, walk inside and watch. I will make sure to protect you if someone decides they are tired of having two arms," her uncle said quietly.

Rhaenys Targaryen stepped through the heavy velvet curtains of the pleasure house, her heart steady as she entered a world she had not seen before. The interior was warm and dimly lit. The scent of jasmine and myrrh hung thick in the air, mingling with the soft, melodic tones of a distant harp.

She moved with an almost imperceptible hesitation, her dark hair hidden beneath a deep hood, her dark purple eyes scanning the room with quiet curiosity. Her cousins barely noticed her.

The room was a labyrinth of silken curtains and cushioned alcoves. As she walked, she saw women—beautiful, confident, and lithe like snakes—moving gracefully toward clients. Their laughter was soft, their voices low and honeyed.

Rhaenys found a secluded spot near the back of the room, where she could observe without drawing attention. She settled onto a plush chaise, her posture relaxed but her mind alert. She watched as one of the women, draped in a sheer, flowing gown, approached a man who had just entered. The way she smiled at him, the way her fingers lightly touched his arm as she spoke.

The man responded eagerly, his hand already reaching for her, but Rhaenys was more interested in the woman's reaction. The courtesan's eyes were bright, but not with passion; they were calculating. Every movement, every word, was made to seduce the man, to make him feel wanted and needed. It was a kind of power, Rhaenys realized, one that was different from the power of swords and armies.

She watched as another woman, this one with raven-black hair, guided a pair of customers to a secluded alcove. Her voice was low and soothing, her laughter like the gentle ringing of bells. The men followed her eagerly, their eyes glazed with desire, but Rhaenys could see the subtle shift in the woman's demeanor as she led them away.

Rhaenys continued to watch. She watched as Arianne kissed Daemon Sand. She shook her head before looking away. She knew her cousin would use this opportunity to make him fall for her. She watched as Nymeria rode a handsome man. Obara and Tyene were having fun with a man older than them.

After an hour of observing and listening, Rhaenys thought this would be it when she heard it. A boy of fifteen holding a harp stopped before a customer and a whore sitting on a cabriole couch. Rhaenys waited, and the boy said something to the man. The man laughed and dug deep into a leather pouch, pulling out a silver coin and throwing it at the boy's feet.

The boy's face lit up; kissing the silver coin, he tucked it inside his pocket before turning to face the man and the whore sitting on his lap, and he started singing. He was singing "My Dornish Wife."

Another song that her father used to sing to her mother before Lyanna Stark seduced him. She listened closely, expecting to remember her father. She listened and listened, but nothing was happening. His voice didn't even come close to reminding her of her father.

"She never wanted to leave."

She remembered Jon's voice, his voice repeating in her head."No, this is not right. He is my enemy. He is the son of Lord Stark, so he is my enemy; he cannot be anything else," she told herself over and over, but her mind kept reminding her of his purple eyes, eyes that reminded her of her Kepa.

No, this... is not possible. Whoever he is, he is NOTHING to me, she told herself over and over.

Then the boy started singing "Jenny of Oldstones." She listened closely, but his voice didn't remind her of her father; it reminded her of no one.

'Lyanna Stark seduced your father, my dear niece. She is to blame for everything,' she remembered her uncle's words.

Rhaenys barely talked to anyone for the rest of the day. She tried to, but her mind kept replaying Jon's song in her ears. She soon decided that she would tell Jon to sing again when they met. But she remembered that she needed to wait for the full moon.

After twenty-nine days of waiting, the full moon engulfed the sky above. Rhaenys closed her eyes, falling into slumber with Arianne pressing herself against her arm, sleeping...

.

.

'There's birdsong, not the sound of yellow birds cawing like Jon often hears when the birds come to and from the castle with their scrolls. These sounds are more like the birds he hears in the morning, chirping in the trees and fluttering past the castle windows. He spots a bright green one on a low-hanging branch of the strange tree. It whistles gently in its pretty little song and takes to the sky, soaring up, and over the house.

Why am I here? Jon asked himself; he had never been in this place before.

Jon can hardly follow it, with the house and the tall walls in the way, but he still tries. He climbs up the steps towards the red door and reaches up to grasp its dark, wooden handle. When his fingers are mere inches from it, a loud, muffled shriek of rage comes from somewhere inside the house.

"You've done it— you've done it. You've woken it, sweet sister. Do you know what that means? Do you?"

It's a boy's voice, an older boy. Jon freezes, instantly reminded of the cook's irate voice when he and Robb steal little cakes from the kitchens. Somehow, this boy sounds far angrier.

"Where are you? Where are you?" the voice howls, high-pitched with fury. "You have woken the dragon, sister!"

He's looking for his sister. Jon has sisters, Sansa and Arya, too. He can't imagine shouting at them like that. He doesn't believe he could ever be so angry at any of them.

The next time the voice speaks up, it sounds quieter, but he is somewhere further away. Jon wonders if it might be safe to go inside the house.

He wondered where Rhae was. He was supposed to meet her, and he still wanted to know why she was crying when he sang to her. He had even asked his grandmother about it, but she had told him that some ladies shed tears because of a beautiful voice and told him never to make fun of a woman because of that. Jon was confused about why she said that. He never made fun of them; he only made fun of Sansa, and it was just simple games.

Jon reaches out for the door handle again.

"No!" a small voice calls out from behind him.

Jon turns around with a little jump. From behind the tree, stepping out beside the edge of the pond, comes a pale girl in a lilac dress, watching him in alarm. She says something else in words Jon doesn't understand, but he is sure she is speaking High Valyrian, and when he squints in confusion, she continues with words he recognizes.

"You can't open the door," the girl says, folding her arms. "You mustn't."

She is young, even smaller than Jon, though not by much.

"The door has to stay closed," the girl says. Her voice wobbles when she speaks as if she is uncertain of her own words.

"Why?"

The girl peers behind him at the red door and then takes a tentative step forward. "I close it at night," she says, but although Jon understands what she is saying now, he is still puzzled. It's not night, not even close—even if he is wearing his bedchamber clothes.

When the girl reaches the steps, she climbs up rather slowly, almost as if she's hesitant to come any closer to him. Jon is confused until he wonders if maybe she's afraid of the door, not him. Or rather, what's behind the door?

She, too, seems a little too young to ask an obvious question, such as why and how Jon is in her garden. When she reaches the top of the steps, she merely stares at him, and he stares right back.

"It's bad inside," she says, "so the door is closed."

"Oh," Jon says, not really understanding at all.

"Do you want to play?"

"Sure," Jon drawled. He still didn't understand why he was here and not at Rhae's chamber, but he was sure he could figure it out once he woke up. "What's your name?"

The girl opened her mouth to answer before snapping it closed like it was a bear trap.

Jon got a little irritated. What was it with girls in his dreams refusing to give their names to him? First, it was Rhae, who was clearly not telling him who she was, and then this girl.

Am I ugly or something? Jon wondered. He had heard from Robb that some ladies would make fun of ugly people and ignore them. He wondered if that was the reason, on top of being a bastard. He escaped his thoughts when the girl talked.

"My-My name is Dany," she answered feebly.

She's lying, Jon thought right away but didn't bother asking about her full name. "Good to meet you, Dany. My name is Jon Snow."

.

.

Rhaenys opened her eyes and looked to her right. Arianne was gone, and she quickly sat up. She looked beyond the curtains of the bed, expecting to see Jon, but he was not there.

"Jon," she called out, thinking he might be in the second chamber, but there was no one there.

"Jon," she called again, this time louder, as she jumped from the bed and looked around her grand chamber.

"Jon, stop hiding!" she shouted, her hand going to the dagger she always carried on her nightgown, but it was gone. She let out a sigh of frustration as she looked around. "Jon, I need to ask you something!" she shouted, but silence was the only answer she received.

Rhaenys felt like slapping herself. Maybe Jon was angry with her; she didn't know. But as she opened her mouth to shout his name, a soothing voice spoke behind her.

"He's not here, Princess."

She whirled around faster than she remembered ever doing, ready to fight, when her eyes saw a white figure standing in a dark corner of her chamber.

"Who are you?" Rhaenys demanded, cursing her luck for not having her dagger with her. She didn't know how to fight with her bare hands like Daemon did.

The figure walked out of the shadow, and the moonlight illuminated her beautiful figure.

The woman had long, flowing silver-blonde hair that cascaded down her shoulders. She had a regal and mystical appearance, with sharp, mismatched eyes and a confident smile. Her lips were full and perfectly shaped, naturally tinted with a shade of rose that complemented her flawless complexion. She had teardrop-shaped breasts hidden behind her dress.

She was dressed in a long, elegant gown that was light in color, almost silvery, and seemed to have a slight shimmer from the moonlight. The dress was adorned with intricate details, particularly around the neckline, where a necklace or decorative element with green and blue gemstones was visible.

Rhaenys had never seen a woman more beautiful than this one; she felt like she was staring at the goddess of beauty herself.

"My name is Shiera Seastar, Princess Rhaenys."

.

.

Jon Snow

In the training yard of Winterfell, Jon Snow and Robb Stark, were in a snowball fight. The ground was blanketed with a thick layer of snow, and the cold air bit at their noses, but the boys didn't mind. Laughter rang out as they ducked and dodged, their small hands clumsily forming snowballs before flinging them at each other.

Robb, with his red cheeks and bright smile, dodged behind a low wall, calling out teasingly, "You can't hit me, Jon!" With his dark hair and serious expression, Jon scooped up another handful of snow, shaping it quickly before launching it toward Robb with a smirk.

Snow flew in every direction as the two boys played, their movements quick and carefree. They were lost in their game, unaware of the small figure watching them from the edge of the training yard.

Sansa, only five years old, stood with her hands clasped in front of her. She watched her brothers, her heart heavy with longing. The past few days had been hard, especially with Jon. He had been cold, distant, still upset over something she barely understood. But today, the sight of them playing in the snow filled her with hope.

Taking a deep breath, Sansa stepped forward, her boots crunching in the snow as she approached them. She hesitated, biting her lip before finally speaking up.

"Can I play with you?" she asked softly, her blue eyes wide and hopeful.

Jon paused mid-throw, turning to face her. His expression was guarded, and for a moment, the cold tension between them seemed to freeze the air even more. Sansa's heart sank as she braced for his refusal, knowing how upset he had been. But to her surprise, Jon's expression softened ever so slightly.

He glanced at Robb, who was grinning, and then back at Sansa. "Alright," Jon said after a pause. "You can play."

Sansa blinked, surprised by his answer, and a smile spread across her face. Without wasting a moment, she bent down and gathered a small handful of snow, her cold fingers forming it into a clumsy snowball. Jon tossed her a snowball of his own, but it sailed over her head, missing on purpose.

Robb laughed and aimed one at her too, and soon all three of them were playing together, the air filled with laughter, snowballs, and the joyful sound of siblings sharing a simple winter game. For a little while, the tension between Jon and Sansa melted away, lost in the fun and warmth of their time together in the snowy yard of Winterfell.

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