The White Wolf of Winterfell

Chapter 10: Next Move

The capital city of King's Landing has seen better days before, or perhaps that would be what one would dare to say if he, she, or they had never lived there. The city had always been a cesspool of corruption, death, and sickness. Only a fool would say otherwise; nevertheless, it was where the King ruled over the Seven Kingdoms, sometimes with an iron fist, or in this case, fire and blood. Still, hope prevails in the form of the oldest prince of Westeros. Rhaegar Targaryen, the crown prince and, for some, the last hope for salvation in the Seven Kingdoms, sighed deeply, watching from his balcony the city down below, as melancholy could be seen on his face.

"So different from the Winter city," he whispered, remembering the city of ice and snow. A place that surprised him and filled him with amazement the first time he saw it. The streets were clean and made of a strange cobblestone, pure and white lining perfectly, creating a flawlessly structured avenue for all to see and walk over, something that King's Landings streets would never be. The city's center was such a place to be, with the big market that made the one in King's Landing nothing but a failed imitation, as it was filled with vendors trying to steal the gold in your pocket and lie about what they were truly selling. But the Winter City's market was filled with wonders of all Westeros and across the Narrow sea. One person could find anything there at an incredible price. The streets were wide and capable of allowing people and horses to walk without stumbling on each other. But adding that was how safe everything felt.

Winterfell, the Oldest castle in all of Westeros, could also hold the title of the most beautiful of all. The long walls and high towers. The Godswood inside the castle was enormous and had a life of its own. Rhaegar believed one person could get lost there. But there was beauty and peacefulness that the courtyard of the Red Keep didn't have. It was a place where he could find peace and quiet. He truly missed it.

Such a place to be. But I wonder, what was the reason for this strange feeling when touching those trees with faces on them? I felt like... something was watching me or whispering to me. Strange. Rhaegar thought deeply before thinking back at the Winter city and its people.

A surreal sensation was to walk among the people without the fear of being robbed or stabbed. Rhaegar truly believed he was in another world. Yet, what truly made the North different from the South as a whole, was how distinct everyone was. The people of the North were just unique, not how the Southerners were. They were somehow more united, capable of looking for one another, no matter the situation. Rhaegar saw it firsthand. It was surreal.

To believe we call them savages. But the truth is that, for them, we are the ones who behave like animals.

Rhaegar thought deeply, watching with disgusted eyes how far behind the North had left the South. Maybe it was what they deserved, all things considered, but he was still ashamed of it.

But at the same time, he shouldn't have expected any less from them. The North has always been a very remote place. A kingdom filled with mystery and its own culture. The Seven had no hold there, as the Northerners still believed in the Old Gods. And their attitude still reflected the ones of the First Man, with their weirwoods trees with faces carved into them and the sometimes prophetic words heard across Westeros. Winter is Coming.

Words that made Rhaegar shiver and made him wonder what else was to come. But he also thought about someone else. The person behind the North's golden age and the one who has taken his life and shifted it around like no one else.

In Winter, we must protect ourselves, my prince, and look after one another. When the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.

Rhaegar's mind was filled with those words. Those were the words of the woman with golden eyes and snow-white hair. The lady who stole his breath and heart. Rhaegar thought of Galadriel every day, all night, at every hour of his life. The prince knew he was in love with her, no doubt about it. No questions asked. A sensation that he didn't expect to feel while traveling to the North. Yet one he was happy to bear. Rhaegar has composed songs for her, writing poems too. But, no matter how much he tried, nothing he did could compare to her. No value of expression would ever explain her beauty and pure heart. Galadriel was an expression of itself. And he wanted her to be by his side. But sadly, all of his fantasies were stopped by the sudden sound of a door opening behind him.