The Power Of Prophecy

Oaths and Endurance

Chapter One

The stone corridors of Winterfell were colder than usual, or perhaps it was just Daena’s imagination. The torchlight flickered, casting shadows that seemed to whisper along with the murmurs of the servants she passed. She could feel their eyes on her, sense the weight of their curiosity and anxiety. Words of warning and speculation clung to the air, too quiet for her to catch fully, but their meaning was clear. They all knew. And they were afraid.

Her heart raced, though she forced herself to keep a calm exterior, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as if holding herself together. She could not show them her fear. Not here, where every stone seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the storm that was bound to break.

Finally, she reached her door. Without hesitation, Daena pushed it open and slipped inside, the solid oak shutting out the prying eyes and murmurs of the castle behind her. The sound of the latch clicking into place was a small comfort, but comfort nonetheless. For a moment, she leaned back against the door, closing her eyes, trying to steady her breath.

The room was familiar, yet tonight it felt almost foreign, as though it no longer belonged to her. A large, fur-covered bed dominated one side, with a simple wooden chest at its foot. A hearth, now only glowing embers, provided a faint warmth that barely reached the far corners. Above the fireplace hung a tapestry depicting the sigil of House Royce, her mother's house. The rest of the chamber was sparsely decorated, save for a small table with a worn chair beside it, where she often sat to write.

This room had been her sanctuary for years, a refuge from the cold and often harsh realities of life. Yet tonight, it felt oppressive, the walls closing in around her as if they too were bracing for what was to come.

Daena moved to the window, her fingers brushing against the rough stone as she reached for the latch. She pushed it open, letting the cool night air wash over her. The courtyard below was bathed in silver moonlight, the outlines of the castle walls stark against the inky sky. The silence outside was almost eerie, broken only by the distant cry of a lone wolf and the whisper of the wind.

As she stared into the darkness, her mind drifted back to the meeting with Lord Stark earlier that day. His words had been measured, his tone grave. Aemond Targaryen was coming, flying north on his dragon. The news had sent ripples of unease through Winterfell.

The North had sworn allegiance to Queen Rhaenyra, and Stark’s men were already on the march, bound for Dragonstone. Aemond’s arrival was unexpected, his intent unclear. Many feared the worst — an attempt to force the North into submission. Yet Daena knew it wasn’t a simple matter of war. The King might hold the throne, and he might command the largest dragon alive, but even he wouldn’t dare provoke the North in its own territory. Not here, where the harsh reality of winter outweighed the ambitions of men.

No, it had to be something else. The glances exchanged in the hall earlier that day had told her as much. Everyone had their suspicions, and they were not far from the truth.

She had spent years imagining what it would be like to be claimed by her kin, to be taken from the Vale, or the North, and brought into the fold of her Targaryen blood. Yet the reality was nothing like the dreams she’d nurtured. She had never expected it to be her cousin, Aemond, who would come for her. His reputation preceded him — ruthless, unyielding, a man as cold and calculating as the dragon he rode.

Daena shivered, though not from the cold. The stories that surrounded Aemond were dark, whispers of cruelty that made her stomach churn. Some said he had killed his own brother to take the throne, a tale so vile she wanted to reject it outright, yet it lingered in the back of her mind, refusing to be dismissed entirely. Why now? Why had he taken an interest in her after all these years? What could he possibly want from her, here in the far reaches of the North? The uncertainty gnawed at her, filling her with a sense of foreboding. Nothing good could come from his visit — of that, she was certain.