Winterfell, the lord’s solar.
Hearing what Jon said, Ned couldn’t help but feel a flicker of curiosity, and asked, “A dream?”
“Yes, Father.”
“It’s been going on for several days now. I keep dreaming that I walk into a very deep cave, deep underground.”
“Deep in the cave, there’s a white beast, bigger than a warhorse. Its whole body is covered in scales, and it has a pair of violet eyes.”
“When it breathes, white mist comes out of its nostrils, with tiny sparks mixed in.”
Crack.
The quill’s nib snapped suddenly, and a drop of thick black ink fell onto the ledger, spreading fast across the page.
Ned looked down at the broken quill in his hand, his fingers trembling faintly.
“You said… it’s white?”
Jon, not noticing anything amiss in Ned, nodded.
“I went to the family library today and looked through a lot of records. It looks a lot like a dragon from the old legends.”
“But Father, when it looked at me in the dream, I wasn’t afraid at all.”
Jon looked up, his face touched with confusion.
“Instead, I felt… like I’d known it a long, long time ago.”
“It felt familiar. Almost kind.”
The solar fell silent.
Wind slipped through the cracks outside the window, and pine logs crackled in the hearth.
Ned picked up another quill from the desk, his voice steady again.
“It’s only a dream.”
“Dragons died out long ago. It’s no wonder a child’s stories and dreams get tangled together.”
Ned rose slowly, walked over to Jon, and reached out to ruffle his black curls.
“Don’t think on it too much.”
“Go on now. Maester Luwin’s lesson will be starting soon. Don’t be late.”
Jon lifted his grey eyes and looked at his father for a moment.
Getting no real answer, he did not press further, only nodded obediently.
“I’ll go now, Father.”
With that, he turned and left the solar.
Creak.
The heavy oak door swung slowly shut, sealing off the light, childish footsteps fading down the corridor outside.
The instant the latch fell, Ned Stark sank back into his chair, and for a long while did not stir.
Lyanna.
The Tower of Joy.
The white hatchling.
They rose again and again in his mind.
“Jory!”
Ned’s head snapped up, his voice low and hoarse, edged with an urgency rarely heard from him.
From beyond the door came the voice of Jory Cassel, captain of the guard.
“My lord?”
“Go to the hall and fetch Benjen. Now. At once!”
In the great hall of the main keep, the fire in the hearth burned high.
Benjen Stark had four-year-old Robb riding on his shoulders, his hands braced around his nephew’s small legs, pacing back and forth across the hall.
Little Robb gripped his hair, laughing with delight.
Jory Cassel strode over quickly.
“Lord Benjen, the lord wants to see you.”
Hearing that his brother wanted him, Benjen lifted Robb down from his shoulders, set him on a nearby bench, and ruffled his hair.
“Go find Maester Luwin. I have some matters to see to.”
Robb nodded obediently.
“All right, Uncle Benjen. I’ll go now.”
With that, Robb hopped down from the bench and ran off toward the door.
Benjen watched him go, then tightened the straps of his leather jerkin and followed the guard quickly up to the top of the keep.
Pushing open the heavy oak door, he saw his brother at once, seated behind the desk.
“Ned, what’s happened?”
Benjen walked up to the desk, lowering his own voice to match.
Ned did not answer.
Instead, he rose and went to the door, speaking to Jory, who stood guard outside.
“Jory, you and the others go on down. I have important matters to discuss with Benjen.”
The two men at the door nodded.
“As you say, my lord.”
Ned shut the door, stood listening a moment longer, then turned back and asked his brother, “Benjen, how has the dragon been lately?”
Benjen looked at him, puzzled.
They had spoken of this only a short while ago, and he didn’t understand why Ned was asking again.
“Its appetite keeps growing. It eats a whole deer in one sitting now, and sometimes a boar besides.”
“It’s getting bigger faster than before, too. It’s already larger than the sturdiest warhorse in Winterfell’s stables.”
Ned’s fingers tapped once, lightly, against the desk.
“Has anything unusual happened lately?”
Benjen shook his head.
“I’ve been away from there for some time now. Nothing had changed, the last I saw it.”
Ned was silent a moment before telling him what Jon had just said.
“Jon’s been having a dream lately.”
Benjen blinked, caught off guard.
“A dream?”
He looked at his brother, not seeing what that had to do with the dragon.
Ned walked back to his seat and sat, gesturing for his brother to sit across from him.
“He dreamed of the dragon.”
The confusion on Benjen’s face turned instantly to shock.
“What?”
Benjen, who had just sat, shot back to his feet, the chair’s legs scraping harshly against the floor.
“That’s not possible! Jon hasn’t seen it once since we moved it into that cave.”
“The two places are a thousand miles apart. How could he possibly know the dragon exists?”
Ned motioned for him to sit back down, his expression grave.
“Jon described it to me. White scales, violet eyes. Even the size matched what you told me.”
Benjen’s hand pressed against the edge of the desk, his knuckles whitening slowly.
“Targaryen blood…”
“Ned, we know far too little about dragons.”
Ned, distracted, did not answer.
Watching his brother’s face, Benjen’s frown only deepened.
“The green seers and skinchangers of the First Men, the dragon lords of Valyria… perhaps different bloodlines have always carried different secrets.”
“And we know nothing of it. Who in Westeros today still understands this lost knowledge of true dragons?”
Ned came back to himself, and shook his head with a bitter half-smile.
“Some things can’t stay hidden forever.”
“It may be that Jon’s blood is calling out to it. Or it may be nothing more than a dream of a dragon.”
“And if the dragon truly appeared because of it…”
Ned did not finish the thought.
Both of them understood well enough what it would mean for a dragon to walk in Westeros once more.
After a moment, Ned spoke again:
“I’ve been considering something. I’d like your thoughts on it.”
Benjen looked at him.
“What are you thinking of doing?”
“There’s someone I’ve thought of.”
Ned rose and walked to the window.
Beyond the driving snow, the direction of the Wall lay hidden somewhere along the northern horizon.
“I wonder if you remember. Some ten-odd years ago, Father took us north to Castle Black, on an inspection.”
Benjen frowned, thinking it over, and finally shook his head.
“I was too young then. All I remember is that the Wall was cold.”
“There, we met an old man.”
Ned gazed out the window.
“If anyone in this world still knows why Targaryen blood binds itself to dragons…”
He paused, then turned to look at Benjen.
“That man is at the Wall.”
Benjen’s expression slowly turned grave.
Ned said, each word deliberate:
“The maester of Castle Black — Aemon Targaryen.”