The continent of Essos, Pentos.
In the first grey light of dawn, Daenerys’s eyes snapped open from sleep, her small chest heaving.
She stared blankly up at the rough, weathered wooden beam above her, her violet eyes full of confusion.
Daenerys slipped quietly out of bed.
The sky had only just begun to grey.
She rose on her toes and pushed open half of the narrow window.
A sea breeze, thick with salt and damp, rolled over her, and from the docks below came the steady rhythm of waves against the pilings.
A few merchant ships, their heavy sailcloth furled, sat quietly moored at the stone quays, and grey-white gulls wheeled and cried among the tall masts.
Daenerys propped her chin on her hand, watching the sky slowly brighten outside, but the image of that black-haired boy would not leave her mind.
If this really was only a dream…
then who was that boy?
Why did he keep appearing in her dreams?
She had never once met him, and yet the dream had felt so real.
Daenerys thought about it for a long while and still could make no sense of it.
Perhaps it really was only a strange dream.
Just then, Ser Willem’s voice came from beyond the door.
The dining room was filled with the warm smell of baked bread and hot oat porridge.
Viserys leaned back against his chair, absently stirring the hot broth in his bowl with a wooden spoon, while nervously flipping through a worn, yellowed book.
“This must be a dragon dream.”
Having listened to his sister’s somewhat timid account, Viserys abruptly stopped stirring his spoon, a flush of near-fanatical color rising on his pale, gaunt face:
“I’ve read of it in old books! Among the blood of the true dragons, a rare few, favored by the gods, can catch glimpses of the future!”
He slapped a hand down on the book, his violet eyes burning with a fierce, fanatical fire, his voice trembling faintly with excitement:
“A dragon! If you truly dreamed of a dragon, then it proves the Targaryen blood was never stripped of its power!”
“The Usurper’s days squatting on the Iron Throne are numbered. All those dogs who betrayed House Targaryen will burn to ash beneath true dragonfire in the end!”
Daenerys said nothing to that, only took small sips of her porridge.
She could not understand her brother’s near-sick hunger for reclaiming the throne and the crown.
Ser Willem Darry pushed a freshly cut piece of warm bread toward her, his old, weathered hand gently stroking the girl’s long, silver-gold hair:
“Fill your belly first, little princess. As for the dreams, when the day comes and the time is right, the gods will bring it all to light on their own.”
Daenerys nodded, ate the rest of her breakfast quietly, and wiped her empty bowl clean.
After that, the far-northern dreams of ice and snow came more and more often.
Every time she entered the dream, the two figures drew a little closer amid the endless wind and snow.
What had begun as only a blurred shape became, in time, clear enough to make out each other’s clothes and faces.
And the deep, dark pit at the far end of the snowfield gave off a heat and a pressing weight that grew stronger with every day.
Until this night.
The wind and snow fell silent, without a sound.
When Daenerys took a step forward through the soft snow, she found, with a start, that the black-haired, grey-eyed boy was standing in the snow only a few steps away.
Before either of them could recover, a low, rumbling growl rolled out from deep within the pit!
The shadows at the mouth of the pit slowly drew back, and a massive white creature, nearly twenty feet long, stepped slowly out from within.
Its whole body was covered in pure white scales, so pale in the snow-light that it nearly melted into the surrounding wind and snow.
Its thick hind legs sank into the frozen ground, its folded wings pressed close against its sides, the edges of the wing membranes trembling faintly with each step.
It came out of the pit’s mouth and lifted its head, gazing down over the snowfield before it.
Its violet, slitted eyes swept over its surroundings, tinged with something like curiosity.
When its gaze fell on Jon, not far off, it stopped abruptly, its eyes fixing on him.
Before he could react, Frostflame had already tucked its wings tight and driven off its hind legs, closing the distance toward him at a quick pace.
Its heavy hind legs sank into the snow with each stride.
One step.
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The great white body was at Jon’s side in moments.
It lowered its huge head and pressed its warm snout gently against the top of Jon’s head.
Hot breath washed over his face.
Jon felt an indescribable closeness spread from his palm through his chest, setting his heart pounding.
The white dragon narrowed its eyes contentedly, a low rumble sounding deep in its throat, and even nuzzled against him of its own accord.
Jon reached out and touched the white scales on its brow.
Beneath the cool scales, a warm current of life stirred slowly.
The dragon seemed to enjoy the closeness too, lingering by Jon’s side for a good while before slowly turning its long neck.
Its violet eyes moved past Jon, and with a touch of curiosity, settled on the silver-haired girl not far off.
Its nostrils flared again, breathing out wisps of warm white mist, as though it were carefully trying to make something out.
Daenerys stood alone in the snow, her small hands clutching tight at the hem of her pale yellow dress, standing timidly in place.
She watched the great white dragon lower its head slowly, nuzzle gently into the black-haired boy’s palm, then settle down obediently.
A low purr sounded from deep in its throat, as docile as some great cat curled by a hearth.
Watching this, the fear in her heart had not yet faded, though her confusion only grew.
Was this… truly a dream, or not?
Carefully, she reached out her small hand, reddened faintly with cold, and a snowflake drifted down from above, landing right in her palm.
Cold.
Cold and small.
She curled her fingers slightly, and the snowflake soon melted into a small drop of water, wet in her palm.
Her dreams before had never felt like this.
Those old dreams had always been vague and blurred, the people in them faceless, their voices impossible to make out clearly.
By morning, whatever had happened in the dream would already be forgotten.
But this snow was truly cold, and the wind stung a little where it struck her face.
She could even make out the boy’s face clearly, just a few steps away, and the fine patterns on the white dragon’s scales.
She bit her lip, quietly raised her other hand, and pinched the back of it hard.
“Hiss…”
It really hurt.
She let go quickly, bending her head to rub at the sore spot.
If this was a dream, why would it hurt so much?
But if it wasn’t a dream, she had been asleep in her own bed only last night.
How had she opened her eyes and found herself here?
Unable to work it out, she simply gave up trying.
Daenerys glanced quickly at the boy, and finally gathered her courage to inch a small step forward.
Crunch.
Her foot pressed a shallow print into the snow, and the sound made her freeze at once.
The boy was still there.
He hadn’t vanished.
Daenerys held her breath and took another careful step.
He still didn’t disappear, and her violet eyes slowly went round with wonder.
A flood of questions rose up in her mind all at once: Where was this place?
Why did the great white dragon obey him?
Who was he?
But there were too many questions, and for a moment she didn’t know which to ask first.
After holding it in for a long while, she finally managed only a small, quiet question:
She hesitated, then asked, timidly:
“Are we… dreaming?”
Jon, who had been occupied with the dragon, heard the girl’s voice and turned to look at her.
He shook his head:
“I don’t know.”
Daenerys froze.
The boy had actually answered her!
“You… can hear me?” Her eyes went wide, her voice full of astonishment.
Jon nodded, and finally asked the question he had wanted to ask for so long: “Who are you?”
Daenerys looked at him, and the small fear she’d been carrying eased all at once.
She curled her fingers and, carefully, drew a little closer still.
“My name is Daenerys.”
She straightened her small back a little, then added quickly:
“Daenerys Targaryen.”
Having said it, she glanced up at Jon, a little shyly:
“But… you can just call me Dany. That’s what Ser Willem and my brother usually call me.”
“Dany.”
“Targaryen?”
Jon repeated the name softly, something flickering briefly behind his otherwise calm eyes.
Hearing her own name spoken from his mouth, Daenerys couldn’t help the corners of her mouth lifting:
“What about you? What’s your name?”
The boy answered plainly.
“You can call me Jon.”
“Jon…”
Daenerys said it softly to herself, and thought it a fine-sounding name.
The distance between them had grown very small now.
Jon drew his hand back from the dragon and held it out toward her.
Daenerys looked at the offered hand, hesitated for a long moment, then slowly reached out her own small hand.
She wanted to know, at last, whether she could truly touch this boy.
The two hands drew closer, little by little.
Just as their fingertips were about to touch—
Crack!
A sharp, splitting sound rang out abruptly overhead.
Daenerys jumped, and her head snapped upward.
The once-blank white sky had, without her noticing, split open into several enormous cracks.
Blinding white light poured through them, and the cracks kept widening.
A violent wind swept suddenly across the entire snowfield, whipping clouds of snow up into the sky, and Daenerys instinctively raised a hand to shield her face.
Behind her, the white dragon sensed something was wrong too, jerking its head up and letting out a string of low, urgent cries.
But its massive body was growing transparent, little by little, within the white light.
“Jon!”
Daenerys threw out her hand, trying to catch hold of the boy she had only just met, but the wind kept driving the two of them further apart.
Jon reached his own hand out toward her too, trying to reassure her:
“Dany, we’ll see each other again!”
“Really?”
Before Daenerys could finish the word, the blinding white light burst open all at once.
The whole snowfield, the white dragon, and the shapes of both children were swallowed whole by the white light, all together.