THE HOUSE OF DRAGON: THE FIRST AGE OF TARGARYEN

CHAPTER 7

The room was dimly lit, flickering shadows dancing across the stone walls as Veronica Targaryen stepped inside, her breath visible in the chill of the North. She removed her heavy cloak, letting it fall to the ground, and her fingers brushed against the fabric of her gown before it joined the cloak in a heap. In front of her stood a large tub filled with warm water, steam rising gently into the air.

She sank into the tub, feeling the warmth envelop her body. With a sponge in hand, she began to scrub her skin, the soothing warmth contrasting sharply with the worries that occupied her mind. Tharion's recent behavior troubled her; it felt as though something dark loomed over them, and she couldn't shake the feeling that they were on the brink of something monumental.

As she lost herself in thought, the door creaked open, and Aroen Stark entered the room, his expression a mix of concern and surprise. Veronica turned to see him, her gaze locking onto his face. "Lord Stark, what brings you here at this late hour?" she asked, her voice steady, though her heart raced slightly at his unexpected presence.

Aroen stood frozen for a moment, caught off guard by the sight before him. He opened his mouth to respond but faltered, unsure of how to articulate his thoughts. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension.

"My lady," he finally managed to say, but Veronica interrupted, the spark of challenge igniting in her eyes.

"My lady? Back in the great hall of your kingdom, you called me your Queen. Why does that change so suddenly?" She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, a mix of vulnerability and strength as she confronted him.

Veronica stood up in the tub, revealing her body, the warm water cascading down her skin and pooling onto the floor. She reached for a blanket, wrapping it around herself, feeling its soft fabric against her damp skin. Aroen stepped closer, their eyes locked, the warmth of their bodies palpable in the small space.

As they leaned toward each other, drawn by an invisible force, Veronica's heart raced. Just as their lips were about to meet, she suddenly pulled back, a look of conflict crossing her face. "I... I'm sorry, Lord Stark. You should get some rest," she said, her voice softer now, but the weight of her rejection hung heavily in the air.

Veronica turned her back to him, the blanket clinging to her skin as she moved to dress, the intimacy of the moment slipping away like water through her fingers. Aroen stood there for a moment, speechless, taking in the situation. His heart sank as he turned to leave, the door closing softly behind him, leaving Veronica alone in the dim light.

In the silence that followed, Veronica felt the warmth of the water beginning to cool, a stark reminder of the moments they had almost shared. Her thoughts drifted back to Tharion and the uncertainty that lay ahead. She needed clarity, strength—something she couldn't find in the warmth of a fleeting moment.

Veronica drifted into a deep sleep, her body weary from the weight of the day. Yet the peace of slumber was swiftly shattered by a cacophony of piercing screams echoing in her mind. These screams were not mere sounds; they reverberated through her very soul, dragging her into a vision that felt hauntingly vivid.

"DRACARYS!" a voice echoed, resonating in the depths of her dreams, a command laced with urgency.

She found herself standing in a frozen forest, an eerie stillness enveloping the landscape. Tall trees, their branches heavy with shimmering ice, loomed over her, creating an otherworldly tableau. As fog rolled in, shadowy figures emerged, the Children of the Forest brandishing their spears, preparing to confront an army of the dead. It was a war invisible to the eyes of mortals, a clash of life and death that threatened to consume all.