Dance of The Dragonwolf

Back to Winterfell

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

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Aenar Targaryen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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