Game of Thrones: Winter's Fire

The Winter Dragon

Daeron Stark looked at the sleeping form of his youngest child, his daughter Eleana had been born a year ago, looking just like her mother, Arianne. Birthing Eleana had been hard for her, she had laboured for many a long hour for near on three days before Eleana had come into the world. Daeron had been overjoyed with the birth of his daughter, and yet that joy had quickly turned into worry and horror as Arianne did not stop bleeding no matter what Maester Tywin did. His wife who had always been so strong, who for as long as he had known her had never truly cried had had done so then, as the blood kept pouring out of her the bed had become her final resting place as a mortal.

Daeron had sat beside his wife throughout her last few days; he left the running of the kingdom to his uncle Beron during that time. He had sat with Arianne as she slipped from the mortal world to the ether, and through all that time he did not, he could not, make himself look at his daughter, their daughter, their Eleana, whose life had been given at the exchange of her mother's, he simply could not force himself to look at her and not feel any sort of hate. He did not want to hate his child, she was his to protect. He could still remember Arianne as she had taken a promise from him, a promise that haunted him still.

Her lips were chapped, her skin pale, and yet Arianne Stark Queen of Winter refused to die just yet, it seemed she had one last thing to say. He leaned forward to listen to her speak as she had opened her mouth. "Daeron," he heard his wife- the love of his life- say. "Don't go cold my love, look after our children. Promise me you'll make sure they grow up to be good and honourable my love, treasure them, Aegor, Daena and our little Eleana, treasure them Daeron. You must promise me that."

"Of course I will Arianne, we both will, you'll make it through my love, you will, you can't die. Don't you dare die Arianne." He had whispered to her.

His wife had smiled then, a weak smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Oh my love, you and I both know I won't make it. It would be a lie to say I would, and I do know how much you hate to lie. Promise me you won't become cold. You're too warm for that, and please don't become unhappy simply because I am not here. Find happiness once I am gone."

"I promise, but no one will hold my heart like you do, you will always be the one, Arianne." Daeron had said then.

His wife had had one more thing to say before she had gone from this world. "My love," she had said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know of the promise you made to your brother, but don't let that consume you. Your family is alive here, don't let the dead dictate to you."

Daeron had stayed silent, not sure what to say to that, his wife had died with a smile on her lips, and Daeron Stark, the Winter Dragon, the King of Winter had wept.

"She's not going anywhere Your Grace." Daeron startled at the sound of Dacey's voice.

Dacey Stark, his cousin, uncle Beron's daughter, had been such a help in the months that had passed since his Arianne had died. She had helped with Daena, he had grown up with a sister but he had always been too busy either playing with swords or away in King's Landing to truly grow up with Velena. He had had no idea how to deal with a girl who had just lost her mother, and whose brother had become much more withdrawn, solemn and no longer wished to play with her. His cousin had taken Daena under her wing, had showed her some things that Daeron knew that Arianne would have laughed about, he was slowly coming to lean on her quite heavily when it came to his eldest daughter, and to a certain extent Aegor as well. Not to mention that she was quite beautiful, but he pushed that thought down, as he so often did.

"I know Dacey, I just, I wanted to see how she was doing." Daeron replied, trying to keep his voice even. After his wife had died he'd hardly spent time with his youngest child, he'd submerged himself in making sure that his kingdom was repaired and healed after the failed Bolton Rebellion, he had left the more nitty-gritty details of her wellbeing to the nursemaid that he had hired from the nearby village. It was only after the castle and the port had been fully completed in record time that he had come with the guilty realization that in his grief he had completely ignored his children, Daena had Dacey, Aegor had had no one, and Eleana, well he had not even visited his youngest daughter in the nursery, had seen no need to, and now he was trying to make up for that as much as possible.

"Well as you can see she is doing just fine, now what about you Daeron? How are you doing?" Dacey asked concern evident in his voice.

He sighed, what with trying to keep his kingdom together, rebuild after the destruction that the Boltons had brought with it, trying to keep Edwyle from killing every single Maester in the north, and trying to bring Aegor back from whatever shell he had put himself in, Daeron did not know whether he was fine, or if he would ever truly be. "I do not know Dacey, truly I do not know."

He heard Dacey walk up to him, felt her arms wrap around him, and breathed in the smell of her, the smell of the Wolfswood the smell of the north, and he found his heartbeat speeding up.

"Well perhaps I can help you feel better then, 'Your Grace'?" He heard her whisper into his ear, and he felt a shiver of anticipation shoot up him.

"What are you suggesting?" Daeron asked her, turning round so that he could face her.

"What I am suggesting 'Your Grace' is that you come with me back to your chambers, and, well…" She said, a slightly seductive smile gracing her lips then.

Daeron felt his heart rate quicken. Dacey kissed him on the lips and pulled him by the hand, nodding to Rickard Karstark of the Winter's Guard who remained guarding the nursery. When they arrived, Daeron saw Dacey push the door to his chambers open and soon they were both on the bed kissing as if their lives depended on it.

That afternoon Daeron did not spend with his council listening to how the North was fairing in the aftermath of the rebuilding, nor did he spend it fretting about how to keep his cousin from alienating the Citadel, he spent it making love with the woman who was quickly filling a hole in his heart.

Council was in session, Daeron often dreaded these meetings especially when the Bolton rebellion had been in its formative stages, when they had argued and argued over what the cause of said rebellion could have been. Horras Bolton had always been thought to be mad, Daeron remembered his father's stories of the man, the Boltons themselves had always been a treacherous house, known for their subservience which always came at a cost.

Daeron's bastard cousin Ser Jon Waters' attack on Moat Cailin during the rebellion had made it crystal clear in Daeron's mind who was behind the attack and the rebellion, that kinslaying bastard Bloodraven. That man had always seemed to be very slimy when they had been growing up in King's Landing, and it seemed he had proven it once more.

After the Bolton Rebellion had been crushed, and that coward Domeric had fled south, there had been much work that needed to be done. Steffon Cassel had served Daeron loyally during the rebellion and had been rewarded with lordship over Stony Shore, for Daeron knew that should that fool Bloodraven wish to cause more disturbances in the north he would more than likely send pirates or maybe even the Lannisters up that way. And, as he had showed, even having the Ironborn as allies did not help them to protect the area. Thus a port and a castle had been built in the Stony Shore and Steffon and Daeron's sister had been given it for them and theirs to hold for the rest of time.

For their loyalty to Winterfell, Daeron had had a port constructed on the Saltspear between the lands belonging to House Dustin and the rebels in House Ryswell, the port was coming along nicely, and the Dustins were evermore grateful to Winterfell, the Ryswell's not so much.

But then again, Daeron thought, they should not have rebelled with Bolton.

"Your Grace," Daeron heard his brother Theon, Lord Commander of the Winter's Guard say.

"Yes Lord Commander, you were saying? Daeron asked.

Theon looked at him for a moment before saying. "Asphell Wull, I believe is ready to fill the vacancy left by Dorren Umber. The man is young and is a fine swordsman and will be most dedicated to your and the prince and princesses protection."

Daeron nodded, and said "Well Lord Commander if you believe he is ready, then he is ready. The ceremony shall take place in a moon's time."

Daeron saw his brother nod, and then he asked. "Is there something else up for discussion today?"

"There is Your Grace." Jonnel Manderly, the Lord of White Harbour said.

Daeron looked at the man, Manderly went on. "I have good news to report from our envoys who went to Bravos, Myr and Pentos."

Daeron nodded for the man to continue speaking. Manderly went on. "All three were successful in achieving trading deals with the cities that they went to. Bravos has agreed to trade glass in exchange for the grain we can give them. Myr has agreed to trade carpets and lace with us in exchange for hides, for it is said that winter is coming to Myr just as quickly as spring approaches us here in Westeros. Pentos has agreed to trade spices with us for wool. Again for the approaching winter that comes to Essos."

Daeron grinned. "That is fabulous news Lord Jonnel, and when do they plan on beginning their trading with us?"

Lord Manderly paused for a moment and then said "Within the next moon Your Grace."

"Good I want ships to be ready to sail from White Harbour, Pyke and from the Stony Shore to these three cities within two weeks. Maester Tywin send ravens to Lord Steffon and Lord Dagon to inform them about these developments. Lord Beron, I want you to prepare the ships at White Harbour, and sail with them to ensure that all goes smoothly."

"It shall be done Your Grace." Daeron heard both men say.

"Now is there anything more of import that must needs be discussed?"

"There is the issue with the Citadel Your Grace." His uncle Beron said.

Daeron sighed. "Do they still refuse to acknowledge Maester Tywin as our Grand Maester?" he asked trying to keep the irritation out of his voice and only partially succeeding.

"They do Your Grace. The Conclave insists that only they can choose a Grand Maester, and the only one they recognize is the Grand Maester who serves in the south." Beron Stark replied.

Daeron sighed once more. "Is there no way in which we can make them see reason?" he asked.

Maester Tywin who had been the maester in Winterfell for as long as Daeron could remember gave a wry chuckle. "Unless you are willing to give up the crown Your Grace, which I know will not happen, then alas I am afraid that there may be no way short of allowing Lord Edwyle to do as he wants, to convince the Conclave of the position you have bestowed upon me."

Daeron ran his hands through his hair. "We shall leave it for now; I will not have Edwyle string up all the maesters in the north simply because he is angry. If I do, then the whole of the Citadel will never trust us with anything, and the south will think us more barbaric than they already do." He saw the other lords of the council nod their heads in acceptance. "What else is there?"

Ethan Glover, the new Lord of Deepwood Motte and the man responsible with gathering information for Daeron spoke then. "I have received reports that there is a man who works within Winterfell's walls who communicates with those in King's Landing, reporting our every move and every action. It is said that he works for the gatemen and that a package will be delivered to his Grace King Aemon, the package will be laced with poison."

Daeron sighed once more and said "Have the guards question each and every gateman, I want to know who it is who is betraying their people, use whatever methods are necessary to get the answers we need, and make sure not a word of this reaches Aemon or Barbery. They have enough trouble looking after baby Aegon."

Glover nodded his acceptance. "If there are nothing else my lords, I confess that I feel quite tired, till next time."

The Lords of his small council got up and bowed to him before they left, Theon walked and stood slightly further down from the throne where Daeron had sat during the council meeting. Their uncle Beron lingered in the hall though.

"Uncle, is something amiss?" Daeron asked.

"Not anything to worry about Your Grace," Beron Stark said hesitatingly, It was interesting, for as far as Daeron remembered his uncle had never spoken in such a way. He looked tired, yet determined, which is why his next words surprised him.

"I cannot keep doing this Daeron."

"Doing what Uncle?" He asked.

"I cannot serve as both High Steward and High Admiral" He clarified, yet also hastened to reassure "It is not that I am not capable but I spend so much time away from my family and I feel that I am never doing anything more than keeping the squabbles of the minor lords from escalating. I wish to go home, truly I do."

Daeron was stunned by the words his uncle spoke. His uncle had always been unflinching in his duty, first to Daeron's father and then to Daeron himself, he would never have thought his uncle would confess to feeling tired, it just didn't seem to be in his nature.

Then again, He thought, it has been many years since I assumed the Crown, and many more before then.

Aloud he said. "Uncle, I truly did not think I was burdening you. If so I am truly sorry. If your wish is to simply be High Admiral and return home, then by all means do so, and know you have my fully support. I only named you High Steward because I did not know of anyone else who could be as capable of you to fulfil the role that uncle Artos had held."

"Edwyle would do just as well, if not better than I did." Beron said.

Daeron snorted, Edwyle while a proven warrior had yet to show any talent for diplomacy.

His uncle heard the disbelief coming from his King. "Truly Daeron, I know that Edwyle is angry and hurt and that some of the things he says can be unworthy of a highborn lord, but he has been through hell, we all have. Giving him the position of High Steward will give him an outlet to turn his anger and rage into something more calming and something that can be used to benefit the north, he is a smart lad, you know that. Name him your High Steward and you will have his undying loyalty."

Daeron thought on that and hesitatingly replied "I will think on what you have said."

Beron Stark nodded, but before he left he turned round and looked Daeron squarely in the eyes

"And please decide what it is you want from my daughter before you ruin what you have with her, for the both of you."

The next day it was formally announced that Beron Stark had resigned the post of High Steward of the North but would stay on as High Admiral of the Narrow Sea, and that Edwyle Stark youngest son of Artos Stark would become High Steward of the north.

Over the next few months, talks were held and many ravens flew from Winterfell to the Citadel and back, the talks were unending and going in circles, for the Citadel had taken a most steely stance: The only Grand Maester was the one that served the King in the Iron Throne, Daeron Stark thus was no King, just a pretender, and did not rate a Grand Maester, offers to mediate between 'The Warden of the North' (As the Citadel's letters referred him) and 'His Grace Daeron Targaryen' to finally end this rebellion in the North were answered only with silence.

Thus it came as quite a surprise when they received a raven from the Citadel informing them that the conclave had caved in and formally recognised Maester Tywin as the Grand Maester of the North and the Iron Islands, and that a conclave would be held to decide who the next Grand Maester would be when Maester Tywin's day came.

Daeron and his council debated into what could have made them reconsider, especially since they had been so stuck to the idea of only one King just a few months ago, but ultimately they had to let it go, they still did not have espionage capabilities that could extend that far.

Daeron asked Dacey to marry him after much deliberation on his part; he'd had to think and try to articulate all of the reasons why he wished to marry her. She had been his rock throughout all the chaos that had come after Arianne's death; he had also seen her and her interactions with his children.

She had been the one to draw Aegor out of his shell, to get his son to express his feelings, to get his son to cry.

She had been there for little Daena- who was quickly growing into a lovely young lady right before his eyes.

She was the one who looked after Eleana, was there when his youngest child took her first steps and said her first words.

Daeron had come to realize that without her there he would have fallen apart after Arianne had died, he had come to depend on her so much, he felt very strongly for her as well, and felt an ache when she was not with him, he still loved Arianne, some part of him always would, but he also realized that he could not stop living just because she was dead.

Just like he had promised her, he would not go cold, and he would find happiness once more.

And so he had asked his uncle Beron, for permission to wed the man's youngest daughter, his uncle had smiled wanly at him and given him permission.

Daeron and Dacey were wed in front of the Heart tree in Winterfell's Godswood in the 207th Year after Aegon the Conqueror's landing; they were wed with spring on the horizon, yet snow still on the ground. Dacey Stark looked every inch a queen with her long flowing brown hair, to Daeron she looked like a vision of the spring coming after a hard winter, the perfect symbol of what she had done to his heart.

The whole of the Northern and Ironborn lords, their ladies and families came in attendance to witness the second marriage of their King and to see his new Queen.

When Daeron removes the cloak from Dacey's shoulders, places the grey and green cloak of House Stark of Winterfell on her shoulders and kisses her, he feels something he has not felt for a long time, hope.

A year to the day of their marriage, Dacey gave birth to triplets, Jorah who has Daeron's violet eyes and Daeron's mother's silver hair, Lyanna who has her father and mother's dark brown hair and has her mother's grey eyes and long face, and Brandon who looks exactly like Daeron's father had with his long face, brown hair and grey eyes.

Winterfell and the north celebrate the births of their King and Queen's children, and Aegor and Daena and Eleana are fascinated by their new siblings, Aegor himself promises his father and Dacey that he will look after them, he promises he will be their big brother and do all that entails.

A year later just as the Great Spring Sickness begins to envelop everywhere south of the neck, Daeron, Aegor, their guest Aemon Blackfyre and their companions came back from having watched Daeron execute a bandit accused of having killed a whole family just to steal their belongings. Some lords, in one of the great gatherings, had suggested that with the Starks as kings once more that the executions should be officially given to a professional, but Daeron had silenced the lot.

"He who passes the sentence must be the one to swing the sword" He'd told them, and that had been the end of the argument, the great majority of the Northern Lords had roared with approval, and the Ironborn Lords had fiercely nodded, their King was no weakling that he needed others to do his dirty work.

It is as they are returning to Winterfell that they come upon a most amazing sight; eight direwolf puppies suckling from their mother's teats. The mother is long dead but the pups are still suckling trying to satiate their hunger.

Daeron himself is surprised to find Direwolves (The very symbol of his house for thousands of years). Just as he is deciding to put them to the sword it is his son who pleads for their lives, claiming them a sign from the Old Gods and their favour for House Stark.

After much pleading from Aegor, he acquiesces and allows his son to take the pups back to Winterfell, but not before warning him that it will be their responsibility (he and his siblings) to take care of them, and to never forget that they will grow up and become ferocious later on.

Aegor gave his promise and they took the direwolves with them back home, where they are quickly picked up by his siblings:

Aegor names his black direwolf Serron.

Daena names her grey direwolf Arry.

Eleana names hers Boo.

Jorah, Lyanna and Brandon young as they are simply hold onto three direwolves:

Jorah a dark grey direwolf.

Lyanna a pure white direwolf.

Brandon a silver direwolf with golden swirls.

The two remaining direwolves are kept with their brothers and sisters but Daeron, now fully believing that this a sign the Old Gods, dreams of more children and more times of plenty.

Aemon Reyne

Aemon Reyne, Lord of Castamere, read the letter that had come from King's Landing and felt the anger boil up inside of him once more. Damon Lannister, the old craven, he who had abandoned his true king was calling the banners to fight for Daeron the Falseborn in order to deal with the Ironborn who were sailing up the Mander toward Highgarden.

According to the letter, Lord Tyrell had asked the King for assistance, and the King had written to Damon Lannister to send aid.

Aemon snorted at that word, help ha, as if the Falseborn could expect any real help from the Westerlands. Damon Lannister was a craven, but Aemon knew the man was still very bitter about the situation the Falseborn had put him in during the Blackfyre Rebellion when the man had held Lannister's two sons Tybolt and Gerion hostage.

"You look grim brother, what on earth is the matter?" Aemon heard his brother the famed Ser Robb Reyne asks.

Aemon merely looked up at his brother, he who like him had sided with the true King, and said.

"The Grey Lion wants us to come to the Rock; we are to be fighting Ironborn it would seem. For the Falseborn is too much of a weakling to do his own fighting."

Aemon heard his brother snort. "Of course he does. The Grey Lion is no longer a Lion, old age has made the man a craven and a weakling himself. He claims to never have forgiven the Falseborn for keeping his sons hostage during the rebellion, and yet now he does the man's bidding like some whipped cur, despicable. The Young Dragon would be ashamed of what his friend has become."

Aemon sighed. "The Young Dragon would despair of what his kingdom has become. His nephew married to a Dornish snake, who then allowed that same snake to whisper filth into his ear, to give the cravens that made Westeros bleed through deceit and treachery more power and influence at court.

Westeros was much better during the days of the Dragonbane and the Young Dragon I tell you. But we cannot risk disobeying the man's order at the moment, not until the true King returns once more. No… we shall need to raise the levies and march."

Aemon saw his brother nod, but knew that somewhere deep down inside that his brother would rather be marching for King's Landing and not the Reach.

As it turned out they did not have to even march, for not a moon after they had begun preparing to march for the assembly they received a raven from the Rock writ in the Grey Lion's own hand that informed them that the Ironborn had withdrawn from the Reach and had sailed back for Pyke, taking with them lots of loot and plunder from the Shield Islands and from the Arbor. Daeron the Falseborn had apparently written to Lannister and told him that his levies were no longer required.

The next two years passed by very quickly for Aemon, there was a tourney held in Lannisport which was attended by all the Westerlords in order to celebrate the birth of a son to Ser Tybolt the heir to the Rock. Aemon did not know what to truly think of Ser Tybolt, as the man was a skilled swordsman and jouster, and yet it seemed that his captivity in King's Landing had made him at turns both jovial and serious. He was not like his brother Gerion, who was completely serious and also a much better swordsman than Tybolt.

Aemon suspected that if another war broke out between the Red and Black dragons, he would be able to convince this generation of Lannisters to fight for the true King.

Aemon also had to bury his wife Elyn Tarbeck during this period, they had been married since they were fourteen and yet his wife had never been able to give him a living child. In total they had had seven stillbirths and one miscarriage, the last was the one that killed her, a baby boy with a r*** of auburn hair on his head.

Each stillbirth had hurt something inside of Aemon, whether it was his pride, or seeing his wife so despondent he knew not. He loved his wife, but he knew the importance of having a male heir. With his wife dead, with no sons of his own body and having no desire to marry again Aemon named his brother Robb his heir, and knew that the succession would be secure. His brother had three sons of his own; the eldest Daemon was thirteen, the youngest Viserys was five.

The next event that happened during this two year period was the death of Prince Baelor Breakspear at the Tourney of Ashford as a result of a tourney mishap during a trial of seven where the man's brother, Maekar, was the man who swung the killing b***.

Aemon had felt like dancing for joy when he had heard the news of the prince's death. Breakspear was the one person who could truly have prevented the Blackfyres from taking their rightful throne, with him dead and his sons still quite young, there was hope left for the rightful kings to take their throne. Revenge would be on the cards.

Then the Great Spring Sickness hit and Damon Lannister died, his son Tybolt became Lord of Casterly Rock and Aemon once more began to sense a chance to cause more headaches for the Targaryens, something that was emphasized when news came that Daeron the Falseborn had fallen ill, but then the illness hit Aemon and his plans flew out the window.

Lying on his death bed Aemon brought his brother in closer and whispered into his ear. "Bring back the way of the warrior brother, right the wrong and avenge the Young Dragon."

Saying those words, Aemon Reyne died, another victim to the Great Spring Sickness.