[please don't ghostread this book]

Aelyna had proved to be more than just Daemon's bastard daughter. She considered herself to be intelligent, willful, cunning and determined. But above all else a traveler. It had been years since she had set foot on Dragonstone, shortly after the consummations of Rhaenyra and Daemons wedding she left. She travelled the farthest corners of Westeros and found there was so much more to life than castles and nobility. Aelyna enriched herself with the cultures of Braavos before travelling North. However despite denying her shared traits with her father, wine had made it more evident as to who's kin she belonged to.

The North was everything she had imagined it be as a child. With winds so cold it could cut through her cheeks she rode on the back of Vermithor to Winterfell. Unfortunately shortly before her travel to Winterfell, she had started a fight in a tavern with the crudest of men in Long Lake. Despite her kindness of buying the entire tavern its ale and gin, she was met with the rudest of men who were too eager to see if she had silver hair bottom as she does on top. Aelyna was not called a spitfire by her father for no reason.

She held her own in the fight but not without mounting her dragon with some bruises of her own. 

The pale sky above Winterfell was an endless stretch of gray, the thick clouds swirling with the promise of more snow. The courtyard below was still, save for the faint crunch of boots on fresh powder as a few guards patrolled the battlements. The bitter wind carried the sharp bite of winter, and all seemed as quiet as the North could ever be.

But the quiet shattered.

A thunderous roar split the sky, guttural and feral, followed by a shadow eclipsing the dim sunlight. Heads turned upward, and the sight drew cries of alarm—a massive dragon, its dark wings torn and trailing smoke, spiraled erratically through the air. 

Aelyna atop the dragon clung desperately to the saddle, her cloak flaring like a dark banner behind her. She were barely distinguishable against the Vermithors neck, save for the silver hair that flashed like a streak of moonlight amidst the chaos.

"Brace yourselves!" shouted a guard as the dragon plummeted closer, its roar now tinged with pain.

The crash was inevitable. With a roar and an earth-shaking impact, the dragon landed hard in the snowy courtyard, sending a blizzard of ice and snow into the air. The dragon's eyes, molten gold rimmed with wilderness, flickered over the gathering crowd before closing, a low rumble emanating from deep within its chest as his wing protectively covered Aelyna.

The courtyard of Winterfell was a flurry of motion, voices rising in alarm and awe as snow swirled around the massive form of the injured dragon. Its breath steamed in the frigid air, each exhalation a plume of heat that melted the snow at its feet. Guards held their distance, wary of the creature's sheer size and power even in its weakened state.

Through the chaos strode Lord Cregan Stark, his heavy fur-lined cloak billowing behind him like a wolf's shadow. His gray eyes were sharp, piercing like the Northern winds.

The gathered crowds parted instinctively as he approached, his boots crunching on the snow-packed ground. The dragon, lying prone but primal menace kept his eyes on Lord Stark, raised its massive head slightly. A deep rumble emanated from its chest, and Cregan paused briefly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Bruised and half drunk Aelyna slid off of her dragon barely able to make twenty steps as her face mounted onto the thick blanket of snow. 

"What in seven hells?" Lord Stark muttered to himself as he found Vermithor shielding the princess with his wing. His own men too afraid to approach the dragon. It wasn't until the white snow became stained in blood that Cregan realized the princess was in dire need of help. Her dragon however refused to have his rider taken. 

Cregan the only man to dismount from his horse slowly approached the dragon. Vermithor the bronze fury, snarled at the Northern men. Cregan found himself frozen in his tracks when he saw the dragons' teeth. He would hardly have to take a bite before swallowing them all whole.

"Ugh...Vermithor... calm." Aelyna coughed clutching her side as she tried to sit up. Her hands stung from the cold temperature "Calm Vermithor. Be calm and gentle. Let them help." 

The princess spoke in a foreign language as she slowly stood to her feet. Aelyna managed to limp towards Lord Stark, though she could only make out his cloak. Her eyes bloodshot red and weary as she fell into Cregans arms. Before she had even realized, Aelyna felt Lord Starks arm wrap around her waist holding her up.

Vermithor did not take this lightly. The dragon's roar echoed through the courtyard of Winterfell, a sound that sent shivers down the spines of even the bravest men. Vermithor's massive claws gouged deep into the snow-packed earth, his golden eyes blazing with fury. The Northerners kept their distance, guards weapons drawn but trembling in their hands, uncertain whether to stand their ground or flee.

"Vermithor, lykiri! Lykiri!" Aelyna wheezed "Dohaeris!". Her eyes met with her dragons, a shared look of understanding with the beast as he bowed his head to her.

She turned her head to Cregan, her body writhing with pain and discomfort "Call for the Maesters."

When Aelyna woke up the first thing she noticed was the cold.

Even beneath the heavy fur blankets piled upon her, the chill of the North crept into her bones, sharp and unyielding. The air smelled of stone and soot, tinged with the faint, comforting scent of pinewood smoke. Slowly, Princess Aelyna Targaryen blinked her eyes open, adjusting to the dim light that filtered through the narrow, frosted window.

The room was sparse but sturdy, every inch a reflection of Winterfell's ancient, utilitarian nature. The walls were of rough-hewn stone, gray and unadorned, save for the tapestries that hung to ward off the worst of the cold. A small fire crackled in the hearth, its glow doing little to fight the deep winter chill but enough to cast flickering shadows across the room.

Her body ached—a dull soreness that reminded her of the flight through the bitter Northern winds and the rough landing that followed. She winced as she shifted, the bruise on her side protesting sharply.

For a moment, she stared at the wooden beams of the ceiling, her mind catching up with her surroundings. Winterfell. The wolf's den. The crash. Vermithor.

The thought of her dragon snapped her fully awake. She pushed the blankets aside, ignoring the sting of the cold as it bit at her exposed skin. Her silver hair, loose and tangled from sleep, fell around her face as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. 

Before she could rise, she suddenly became aware of the hoards of women in the room.

A group of maids surrounded the bed, carrying a trays with food, clothes and medicine. Aelyna's caught one of them. The girl paused when she saw the princess sitting upright, her wide eyes lingering on the silver hair and striking violet gaze.

"Your Grace," the maid said, dipping into a hasty curtsey. "You shouldn't be out of bed. The maesters said you need rest."

Aelyna's tone was gentle but firm. "My dragon. Vermithor—where is he? Is he safe?"

The maid hesitated, then nodded. "He's in the courtyard. The maester and Lord Stark's men are tending to him."

Relief washed over her, and she exhaled deeply, her shoulders relaxing for the first time since the crash. "Thank the gods." she murmured.

The maid approached, setting the tray on a small table beside the bed. "You should eat, your Grace. You'll need your strength, especially in this weather."

Aelyna offered a faint smile of gratitude, though her thoughts were already drifting to the courtyard and her dragon. "Thank you...?"

"Roslyn, Your Grace." the maid replied, blushing faintly under the princess's gaze.

"Thank you, Roslyn. I need to speak with Lord Stark. Where can I find him?"

Roslyn shared a worried glance to the other maidens in the room, one Aelyna caught very quickly. She hesitated, glancing at the door as though expecting someone to walk in. "He-"

"There's no time to waste," Aelyna said, pushing herself to her feet. Her legs trembled slightly, but she steadied herself against the bedpost. She donned the thick wool cloak folded at the foot of her bed

The maids protested, "But you've only just woken! You must rest—"

"I will rest once I've seen my dragon." Rhaenys interrupted gently. "Can someone please take me to see Lord Stark?" 

Just as she finished speaking, the heavy wooden door creaked open. A tall, broad-shouldered man entered, his fur-lined cloak sweeping the floor behind him. His dark hair hung to his shoulders, with strays hung at the temples, and his gray eyes were as cold and unyielding.

"Princess Aelyna," Lord Cregan Stark greeted her, his deep voice resonating like the rumble of distant thunder. "You're awake sooner than expected."

Her gaze narrowed, a spark of fire igniting within her despite the pain. "Where is Vermithor?" she demanded, her tone sharp despite her obvious weakness. "What have you done with my dragon?"

Lord Stark raised an eyebrow, his expression neutral but his voice firm. "Your dragon is alive. He's being tended to in the courtyard. His wing is torn, and the cold has bitten him as harshly as it has you."

"I need to see him." she said "Take me to him, now!" Aelyna commanded

Cregan stepped forward, his expression hardening. "You need to rest."

"My dragon needs me." she snapped, her silver hair falling into her face as she glared at him. "Do you expect me to lie here while he suffers?"

"My maester speaks your native tongue. He seems to be the only one the beast listens to. Your dragon is in capable hands." Cregan replied, his tone cool and measured. "More capable than you are in your current state. You crashed into my courtyard, bleeding and unconscious. If you think I will allow you to wander about my keep in such a condition, you are mistaken."

Aelyna's eyes flashed with defiance. "You forget yourself, Lord Stark. I am a Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, the blood of Old Valyria. You are far from my uncle, the king, to give me orders."

"And you forget where you are." Alaric retorted, his voice rising just enough to command the room. "This is Winterfell. My land. My house and while you're here, you are under my protection—and my rules."

They locked eyes, the heat of her fury meeting the unyielding chill of his resolve. For a moment, neither spoke, the air thick with tension.

Finally, Cregan Stark sighed, his tone softening but losing none of its authority. "You cannot help your dragon if you're dead, princess Aelyna. You're injured, and the cold will claim you if you push yourself too soon. Rest, and you'll see your beast soon enough."

Aelyna hesitated, her pride warring with reason. Her shoulders sagged slightly, though her expression remained stormy. "You cannot keep me here forever."

Cregan's lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, into a dry smile. "I have no desire to. But until you're strong enough to ride again, Winterfell is yours to call home. You'll find we're not such poor hosts."

Her gaze flickered to the window, where the pale light of morning illuminated the snow-covered courtyard below.

"Very well." she said at last, her voice quieter but no less resolute. "I will stay. But only on the condition that I get to see my dragon, every day."

Cregan nodded once. "Soon." Without another word, he turned and left, the heavy door closing behind him.

Aelyna remained quiet as she allowed herself to be tended to. Unsure on whether or not she could make of Winterfell a home, if only for a few days.

The dim light of the study casted long shadows across the stone walls. The room was warmed by a fire roaring in the hearth, but the chill of the cold corridors seemed to seep in regardless. Cregan Stark stood near the window, gazing out over the snow-blanketed courtyard where the massive form of the dragon lay resting, its breath steaming in the frigid air.

Behind him, Maester Loryn adjusted his chain, the soft clink of links filling the quiet as he waited for the Lord of Winterfell to speak.

Cregan turned at last, his sharp gray eyes fixing on the older man. "Tell me about her, Maester. What do we make of her?"

"Of whom, my lord?" Loryn asked, though he knew the answer.

"The princess." Cregan said, his tone measured but curious. "Aelyna Targaryen. It isn't often we are visited by the Targaryens, no less the kings niece." He trailed off with a narrowed gaze

Maester Loryn folded his hands within the wide sleeves of his robes. "It depends on how much you have heard of her, my lord." he answered peaking his Lord Starks interest "She is the eldest of Prince Daemons daughters. She was raised by the king during the war in the Stepstones. Rider of the old king Jaehaerys dragon-"

"I meant other than the obvious." Cregan deadpanned "I meant your judge of her character. Even as a child I remember the secrecy surrounding prince Daemons bastard daughter, none that weren't exaggerated tales about her fathers frequent visits to brothels. I want to know her..." Cregan averted his eyes to Maester Loryn's half smile at the young lords interest "As a guest..."

"During my years in the Citadel, I've heard my fair share of stories about princess Aelyna." Maester Loryn said "For one, a traveller- a nomad if you will, my lord."

Cregan sat up in his chair leaned forward into the conversation 

"On the eve of her sixteenth name day King Viserys and Queen Alicent had attempted to celebrate her coming of age. It was quite the festivity, with highborn lords and ladies travelling from the farthest corners of the seven kingdoms. It was quite the scandal, if I remember."

"Why?" Cregan asked

"Well by the morrow of her name day she had taken her dragon and fled from Kings Landing." Maester Loryn replied "It seemed that every fortnight she found herself in a different city. She was able to make her travels across Westeros, quite easily and undetected."

"How easily? She is a princess after all."

"Well, there had always been the rumor that the girl was a witch my lord."

Cregan scoffed "A witch? Her?"

"Oh yes." The Maester laughed "It seemed in each city she visited her appearance was always somehow different. She had a talent for changing her face. There was once a story of princess Rhaenys having been raised from the dead as she walked the cities of Braavos."

"And you believe this? A sensible man as yourself, why Maester Loryn?"

"Because the mother is one, this I know." Maester Samuel shrugged "Apparently prince Daemon had bedded a whore who travelled from Braavos to Kings Landing, a very long time ago. When the princess Aelyna was born, there were whispers of a black haired woman with eyes as blue as sapphires wandering the Free Cities. She was a faceless woman."

"Faceless people?" Cregan retorted "My father had told me stories of swarthy traders from Braavos but- How can you know this is not just a tall tale shared amongst the maesters in the Citadel?" the young lord wondered 

Maester Loryn's eyes darted to the door as if though his conversation with Lord Stark was not to fall on the wrong ears. "The Faceless Men are no mere rumor, my lord." he said in a whisper, his voice edged with caution. "They are as real as death itself, and far more dangerous. If it is true that the princess's mother was one, you have opened Winterfell to sorcery my lord. Dark sorcery."

Cregan crossed his arms "She's not here by choice, Loryn. Her crash landing was an accident, not an invasion. Perhaps you have lent out your ear to too much gossip." He paused, his voice dropping. 

"Perhaps it is all just a coincidence." Loryn replied. "But you have never been one to believe in coincidence, my lord."

Cregans lips tightened, his gaze returning to the fire. "No, I haven't."

Alaric nodded thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing. "I will make sure to keep an eye on her. In the meantime, you should try to befriend her rather than make an enemy of her." the maester said "She is unable leave yet, my lord. Not until her strength is fully restored. If she does, she risks not only her life but the safety of the North. A wounded dragon in these lands... the consequences could be dire."

The night the air in Winterfell's halls was thick with the kind of quiet that only winter could bring. The howling winds outside were nothing compared to the stillness that hung between Cregan Stark and the princess as he approached her chambers. His steps were slow and careful, the sound of his boots echoing softly against the stone floors.

He knocked lightly on the door, the sound reverberating against the cold stone.

"Enter." came her voice, soft but steady.

Aelyna sat back in the bed, her thumb dug into her palm when her eyes met his. He pushed the door open, stepping inside to find her sitting near the hearth, a thick blanket draped around her shoulders. The fire crackled warmly in the corner, casting a soft glow on her face. Aelyna's beauty, even under the shadow of injury, was striking—

Cregan's eyes lingered a moment longer than necessary before he masked the sensation, taking a step toward her.

"I see you're still alive and well, Princess." he said, his tone light but laced with an underlying curiosity. "My maester tells me your recovery will only take a few days." 

"Lord Stark." Aelyna replied "I suppose I should be thanking you as well as your maester for tending to my wounds." She held her side, turning to her side as she slid of the bed. She met his gaze with a hint of amusement "You seem disappointed, Lord Stark." she replied with a raised brow, her voice lilting with dry humor. "I would've thought you'd be thrilled to rid yourself of me and my dragon."

Aelyna's eyes narrowed playfully, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. "Unprepared?" she echoed, leaning forward slightly. "I'm not sure whether to be flattered or insulted."

"I meant no offense." Alaric said, though his softened. He took a few more steps toward her, standing at the edge of the hearth where the warmth of the fire reached him. 

"I must admit, it is hard to ignore the fact that your dragon has caused a stir." Cregan's face remained stoic as he spoke "My council has advised me of speaking with you before a raven is to be sent to Dragonstone."

"I apologize for the dramatics. I hope I haven't placed you into a too uncomfortable position." Aelyna said "I know there must be many questions surrounding my unplanned visit. I had planned to visit the wall and must have gotten distracted on my travels." Aelyna explained "You see the North is part of my last tour before returning home." She wanted to say home, but Aelyna knew there was no home or her. Not Kings Landing and certainly not Dragonstone. "As for my father he knows of my whereabouts. I will inform him as well as my sisters that I landed in Winterfell, that is if they are not aware of this yet."

Her only home was the winds she carried herself through on dragonback.

Aelyna leaned forward, with a teasing smirk "Hopefully Vermithor and I won't be too much of a burden to you and your council."

"No, your grace. Winterfell welcomes you princess." He dryly said. To which amused Aelyna. "But what of your dragon? Depending on how long you stay, am I wrong to assume we must be prepared to his needs as well."

Despite his calm demeanor, Aelyna noticed his worry around her dragon. She was going to enjoy him, she thought to herself.

"What do dragons even eat?" Cregan asked 

"Whatever they want." Aelyna replied.