Legacy of the White Dragon: A Dance of Dragons

Chapter 8: Blood and Steel, Passing of the Bronze

Aemon Targaryen (103 A.C. third moon)

Sea Dragon point

The journey to his future land wasn't long, despite the summer snow and the twanging of the winds. The minimal road toward the western shore in that part of the North was not the most passable. So the journey took three weeks, with him visiting Deepwood Motte. He then remembered that time as he was flying one Balerion's back.

Flashback

"My Prince, it is an honor to host you and your dragons in my humble domain. May the old gods be with you. To the dragonwolf, the Prince of the North," Garred Glover shouted, pulled his sword, and then went to one knee.

"Thank you, my lord. We accept bread and salt," he said with a nod as the castle of Deepwood Motte came into view. "My prince, may I show you to your chambers?" A girl, perhaps two years his senior, asked.

"Of course. May I have your name, my lady?" He questioned the girl. "Of course, Your Grace. I am Diana Glover, Your Grace, the eldest daughter of Lord Glover. If it pleases you, Your Grace."

"Well met, my lady. I'll follow where you lead," he said with a smile, making the girl blush. "If that's your will, please follow."

'Deepwood Motte was a proper wooden keep made possible by the Wolfwood.' He thought as they walked through the halls of Deepwood Motte.

"This is it, Your Grace. I hope the room pleases you," she said with a smile when she opened the door. "It's lovely, my lady. Thank you. Deepwood Motte smells wonderfully like the pine of the Wolfswood," he said, giving her a warm smile.

"It does, my Prince, although I only notice it when I return. Now, I don't anymore. It's a pity; it's a nice smell indeed," she replied with a grin, her eyes twinkling. 'Diana Glover had stunning brown eyes, large and expressive, that seemed to sparkle with warmth. Her curly brown hair cascaded down her shoulders in soft, natural waves, framing her face with an effortless grace. Anyone would happily call her their wife, but he already had one lady, one with silver curls and amethyst eyes.' He thought as he stared into her eyes.

"True, the North generally smells much better than the South does. Oh, and don't get me started on King's Landing itself," he said, breaking the silence, and shook his head as he thought back to Kingslanding and its smells.

"Well, it's good to hear the North is well-liked by the Prince of the North and our humbled Glovers as well," she said, smiling. "Well, I'll leave you to settle in, your grace. The feast will start in three hours," she said, bowed, and left the chambers.

"Ser Harrold, please join me," he said, and the old knight entered. "My prince, you asked for me," Harrold said, bowing his head.

"How do you find the North, Ser? We have been here together for the past two years," he asked.

"Hmm, the air is cold and fresh, and it reminds me of my old home, the Crag. The Northern ale is good, but I prefer a good Summer Sea wine. Most lords are more honorable and less slippery than those in the South. This is one of the many reasons I chose to become a Kingsguard. I never wanted to deal with that as a lord. I'm sure my father wanted his second son to marry for land and title, but I only wanted to be a knight. When I heard of the chance to become a Kingsguard, I took it with all readiness. It was the greatest honor of my life; the second was serving you. You have made your father and family proud with how you have conducted yourself," Harrold said genuinely.

"Thank you for saying so, Ser. Having you here has been a great comfort. You are like family, and with my uncle, you are like a father to me after my father passed. So thank you for all your lessons," he said, opening the man's eyes well.