The Reign of Fire

The Fall Of The Targaryen's

A flash of lightning lit up the night sky as thunder rolls over the walls of Winterfell, casting dark shadows to dance inside an open window of a room.

The summer storms have arrived.

Winterfell is the ancestral castle and seat of power of House Stark and is considered to be the capital of the North. It is in the centre of the northernmost province of the Seven Kingdoms, on the Kingsroad that runs from Storm's End to the Wall.

Winterfell is a huge castle complex spanning several acres and encircled by two massive granite walls. There is a village outside, Winter Town. Winterfell has been built around an ancient Godswood and over natural hot springs. The water is piped through walls and chambers to heat them, making Winterfell more comfortable than other castles during the harsh northern winters.

Inside the walls, the complex is composed of dozens of courtyards and small open spaces. Weapons training and practice take place in those yards. The inner ward is a second, much older open space in the castle where archery practice takes place. It is located next to the broken tower. Inside Winterfell stands the inner castle, which contains the Great Keep and the Great Hall. Winterfell's towers and halls have diamond-shaped window panes.

A sharp cry could be heard to echo throughout Winterfell, for a sleepless child stirred due to the storm. Lord Eddard Stark enters the room, his eyes landing on the young girl as she cries from within her cot. Tears stream down her chubby cheeks, her striking lilac eyes staring at the Warden of the North. Lord Stark reaches in, lifting the small child into his arms, in an attempt to abate her cries. The infant barely cried after her birth, but in the days since she was stolen away from King's Landing, she seemed to do little else.

"Shall I tell you the story again, little one?" Lord Stark murmurs.

The little girl reaches up and grabs ahold of the ends of his long brown hair, her sobs quieting down.

"Many years ago" Lord Stark gently untangles his hair from the little one's grip. "Thousands of miles away, a promise was made"

A little Princess was sitting on the Iron Throne, her cries surrounding the Throne Room of King's Landing as her grandsires body falls to the dais, his throat slit.

At the age of one, she was too young to understand what was happening. Too young to know that her entire family, and dragons have been slain in the Battle of the Trident.

It was a long war, that bought House Targaryen to its ruin.

The little girl stared down at her grandsire, tears hot upon cheek, not knowing about the danger that lurked in the shadows. A loud shrill rings out, startling the girl as metal hits metal.

Two men had locked their blades. Lord Eddard Stark and Ser Jamie Lannister.

Lord Stark stood between the little girl and the knight, his dark grey eyes reflecting his intentions without saying a word. For his heart felt for the little princess.

Ser Jamie takes a step backwards, lowering his sword from their crossed blades.

"You wish to spare her?" He questioned the Warden of the North.

"The girl deserves opportunity"

The doors of the Throne Room groan as they are pushed open, the men turn and watch as Lord Robert Baratheon of Storm's End, walk down the steps. In his left hand was the bloody helm of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. The once bright gold, orange, and red silken streamers that resembled flames, were now dripping with blood.

Lord Baratheon glares at the young girl with his bright blue eyes. His blood burning through his veins at the monster, born from his enemy, sits on the Iron Throne.

''She deserves the same faith as her family'' He hisses.

''She's only a child, Robert" Lord Stark scowls him.

Robert Baratheon curses to the Old Gods, knowing his friend has a good sweet heart beneath his solemn face.

"And if we take her life?" Lord Stark presses. "What message does that send out to the Houses?"

"That they best be agreeable"

"We're the Mad King then? Commanding through fear and death?"

All gathered glance to the Targaryen who lays in his own pool of blood.

Lord Baratheon growls, while Lord Stark gives a small smile, knowing he has won the argument.

"I will take full responsibility" He adds quickly.

When Lord Baratheon made no move to say anything else, Lord Stark sheathed his blade and turned to the Iron Throne, gazing up at the small child.

And so it was decided between House Stark and House Baratheon, that the last Targaryen shall be hidden away in the North.

Lord Stark watches the girl as he slowly climbs the steps of the dais, for she had stopped crying and now starred folon at the man who had saved her from a terrible fate.

"Do not worry, little one" Lord Stark whispers as he carefully picks her up. "As long as I am here, no one will hurt you"

Lord Stark carefully places the sleeping child back into her cot as he finishes the story. He watches as the young girl curls onto her side, her silver-gold hair fanning out behind her.

"She looks just like her father" Comes a soft voice.

Lord Stark doesn't turn around as his wife, Lady Catelyn, walks up beside him. She was beautiful, with fair skin, long auburn hair and blue eyes.

Lord Stark smiles proudly as he watches his wife bends at the waist and gently kiss the little one's chubby cheek.

"Sleep, my daughter"

Though Lady Catelyn is peaceful and holds duty over desire as a governing principle of behaviour, she is fiercely protective of her beloved family, which includes their Rhaenyra.