Jon had always believed he’d long grown used to the cold of the North.
It was only once he reached the Wall that he realized it was far colder here than at Winterfell.
The wind cut straight through his clothes, and before long his hands and feet had gone numb with cold.
For this journey to see Frostflame, only Uncle Benjen and Ser Alliser Thorne set out with Jon.
Eddard Stark did not come along, staying behind at Castle Black to see to some matters.
Benjen Stark led the way, their horses’ hooves struggling through the thick snow underfoot.
Years before, Benjen had come to the Wall of his own will, the better to look after Frostflame, and had gone so far as to join the Night’s Watch.
Howland Reed, who had cared for Frostflame all that time, had left afterward, returning to his own Greywater Watch.
Uncle Benjen said the journey from Castle Black to Frostflame’s hiding place would take about two days.
“Tell me again why we had to drag this whelp out to this godsforsaken place.”
It was the Watch’s training master who spoke.
His face had stayed tight and sour since the moment they’d set out, his words blunt, and he had grumbled the whole way.
Thorne had no idea of the true purpose of this journey; he had only been told he was to come along.
But before they’d set out, Lord Commander Mormont had told Jon privately: “He has a foul temper, but I trust the man. Back when Tywin’s purge came, he was given two choices: take the Wall, or take the headsman’s block.”
“In the end, he chose the Wall. If he ever recognizes who you are, I believe he won’t do you any harm.”
Benjen glanced at Thorne.
“We’re only taking him to see an old friend. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“There’s nothing safe about this place at all, you fool.” Thorne let out a cold snort.
“If that mouth of yours doesn’t quiet down, I won’t mind leaving you out here.” Benjen warned.
The next day, as the light began to fail, they arrived at the mouth of the cave deep within the valley.
Wind howled through the mouth of the valley, whipping up clouds of snow, and the black, cavernous opening looked like some enormous mouth thrown wide.
Jon swung down from his horse, his heart pounding hard in his chest.
The shape he had seen so many countless times in dreams was, at last, about to meet him in the waking world.
The white dragon born the same moment he was — she was right there, inside.
Thorne swore under his breath as he dropped from his horse: “Are you trying to get us killed in a cave, or just wait around to be carried off by a bear?”
Before he’d even finished, a low, deep roar suddenly rolled out from deep within the cave.
Rumble—rumble—
The sound echoed through the valley without end.
Several of the horses startled and shied back, and Thorne drew his sword on instinct.
Benjen said nothing, only gripped his reins tight, staring into the black mouth of the cave.
Deep within the darkness, two points of violet light slowly kindled.
With the sound of heavy footsteps, a massive white shape emerged from deep within the cave, her great wings folded at her sides, her snow-white scales catching the dusk light, hot white mist streaming steadily from her nostrils.
She stopped at the mouth of the cave, her violet, slitted eyes passing over Benjen and Thorne, settling directly on Jon.
Jon spoke her name softly.
The white dragon let out a low, mournful sound, and walked slowly up to Jon, the snow trembling with every step she took.
Her great head lowered, and scorching breath washed over his face.
Jon’s heart hammered wildly.
He tore off one glove and reached out, just as he had in his dreams, pressing his hand against Frostflame’s face.
Her warm snout pressed against his palm, and waves of joy surged through his heart.
“I’ve finally found you.”
Frostflame blinked her violet eyes, her snout still resting against his palm.
Rumble… rumble…
Then, she let out a low sound.
Behind them, Thorne had gone completely rigid, hardly able to believe his own eyes.
A dragon.
A living dragon.
He watched Frostflame lower her head, letting the black-haired boy touch her freely, his sword-hand trembling.
The war of more than a decade past surged suddenly into his mind.
The Mad King.
Prince Rhaegar.
House Targaryen.
And the dragons long since vanished into history…
Thorne’s gaze fell on Frostflame, then on Jon, and his breath came faster and faster.
His legs gave way.
Thump!
He fell hard to his knees in the snow.
Amid the endless wind and snow, only his near-senseless voice remained.
“Seven hells…”
The campfire slowly dwindled, only a few thin threads of smoke curling upward, mingling with the cold of the ice fields.
Jon leaned against the broad side of Frostflame’s neck, her warm body rising and falling gently with each breath, warmer even than he had imagined.
Frostflame was just as affectionate as she had been in his dreams, the tip of her tail brushing his leg now and then, as though simply making sure this newly reunited companion was still there beside her.
Jon ran his hand over her scales, the feel beneath his fingertips real and warm, and looking into those violet eyes so close before him, he found himself briefly lost, almost dazed.
Thorne’s eyes had not left Jon once.
He had been silent ever since first seeing Frostflame, and even now, seemed not yet fully recovered from the shock the dragon had given him.
“I’m sorry. I should have told you beforehand.”
Jon looked at him and said: “This whole journey out here was always meant to bring me to see her.”
“Your Highness need not apologize.”
“Call me Jon.”
“You are Prince Rhaegar’s son. You carry Targaryen blood.”
Thorne glanced at Frostflame beside him.
“And now you have a dragon at your side besides. Whether you’re willing to admit it or not, to my eyes, you are a Targaryen prince.”
Jon looked at the near-fervent expression on his face, and did not try to correct him further.
Thorne went on: “Your Highness, how did you survive? I heard that when the Red Keep fell…”
Jon glanced toward Benjen, not far off, and seeing him nod, said:
“I am not Elia Martell’s son.”
“I was born at the Tower of Joy in Dorne. My mother was Lyanna Stark. My father Rhaegar married her there, in secret.”
Thorne’s expression turned grave at once.
“Then the child who died in the Red Keep all those years ago…”
“That was my brother. Aegon Targaryen.”
Thorne pressed further: “Then why did I never hear that Prince Rhaegar had a second wife? Why did no word of you ever reach anyone?”
“If, at the time…”
Benjen cut off the words he hadn’t yet finished saying: “Jon is my sister Lyanna’s child. If Robert ever learned who he truly was, he would never let it rest. So all these years, Jon has had no choice but to live as Jon Snow.”
Hearing this, Thorne fell into memory.
Jon spoke then: “At Castle Black, you’ll still call me Jon. I don’t want everyone in the Night’s Watch suddenly learning there’s a Targaryen prince among them.”
Pulled out of his memories, the Watch’s training master answered at once: “As you say, Prince Jon.”
The name, spoken from his mouth, no longer carried its earlier stiffness.
He looked toward Frostflame, now sound asleep: “Now that you’ve found your dragon, what do you mean to do next?”
Jon, leaning against Frostflame, said: “The most important thing now is learning how to master riding her, and making sure she’s truly used to me.”
“With a dragon in the world again, things in the Seven Kingdoms are bound to change sharply. If it ever truly comes to war, I’ll need her help.”
Only now did Thorne finally understand why the Old Bear had insisted so firmly that he come along.
“So that’s why the Lord Commander had me follow you?”
“There’s more than that.”
Benjen let out a short laugh.
“Mormont also asked me to tell you: once you’re back at Castle Black, you’ll be responsible for teaching Jon swordsmanship and tactics.”
Thorne blinked, startled, then looked at Jon, and said, delighted:
“It would be my honor. As long as Your Highness is willing to learn, I’ll teach you everything I know.”
“Then I’ll be in your debt, Ser Thorne.”
Jon smiled, and let his gaze settle back on Frostflame.
The night wind swept through the valley, and the last spark of the campfire scattered away on it.
Frostflame lay curled quietly beside Jon, her low, steady breathing sounding gently through the silent, snow-bound night.