Jon had always thought he was long accustomed to the cold of The North.
Only after reaching The Wall did he realize how much colder it was here than at Winterfell.
The bitter wind cut through his clothes, and before long his hands and feet were numb.
On this journey to see Frostflame, only Uncle Benjen and Ser Alliser Thorne accompanied him.
Eddard Stark had remained at Castle Black to discuss certain matters.
Benjen Stark led the way, the horses struggling forward as their hooves sank deep into the heavy snow.
Years ago, Benjen had come to The Wall of his own accord so he could help care for Frostflame.
He had even joined the Night’s Watch because of it.
Howland Reed, who had been looking after Frostflame before then, had later left and returned to his home in The Neck.
Uncle Benjen had told Jon that reaching Frostflame’s hiding place from Castle Black would take roughly two days.
“Tell me again why we had to drag this little brat all the way out to this godforsaken place?”
The speaker was the Night’s Watch instructor.
His face had been grim since the moment they set out, and his tongue was no gentler.
He had complained almost the entire way.
Thorne knew nothing of the true purpose behind the journey.
He had merely been told that he was required to come.
Before their departure, however, Lord Commander Mormont had spoken privately to Jon.
“He has a foul temper, but I trust him.
When Tywin was settling old scores, Thorne was given two choices.
The Wall or the headsman’s block.”
“He chose The Wall.
If he realizes who you are, I believe he will not harm you.”
Benjen glanced at Thorne.
“We’re only taking him to see an old friend.
Nothing will happen.”
“There’s no such thing as safe in a place like this, fool,” Thorne said with a cold snort.
“If that foul mouth of yours refuses to stay shut, I won’t mind leaving you out here,” Benjen warned.
By dusk the following day, they reached the mouth of a cave deep within a valley.
Wind howled through the narrow pass, whipping loose snow into the air.
The dark mouth of the cave yawned before them like the jaws of some enormous beast.
Jon dismounted, his heart pounding hard against his ribs.
He had seen that figure countless times in his dreams.
Now, at last, they were about to meet in the waking world.
The white dragon born alongside him was inside.
Thorne leapt down from his horse, muttering curses.
“Are you trying to get us killed in that cave, or are we supposed to stand out here until a bear carries us off?”
Before the words had even left his mouth, a deep roar suddenly rolled out from the depths of the cave.
The sound thundered through the valley, echoing between the slopes.
Several horses reared back in terror, and Thorne instinctively drew his sword.
Benjen said nothing.
He merely tightened his grip on the reins and stared into the darkness.
Far within the cave, two points of violet light slowly appeared.
Then came the sound of heavy footsteps.
A massive white shape emerged from the darkness.
Huge wings lay folded against her sides, snow-white scales catching the last traces of twilight while steaming white breath poured continuously from her nostrils.
She stopped at the mouth of the cave.
Her vertical violet pupils passed over Benjen and Thorne before settling directly on Jon.
“Frostflame…”
Jon softly spoke her name.
The white dragon gave a low rumble and slowly approached him.
With every step, the snow beneath her feet trembled.
Her head lowered, and a wave of scorching breath washed over Jon’s face.
His heart hammered wildly.
He quickly pulled off one glove and reached out, pressing his palm against Frostflame’s face just as he had done so many times in his dreams.
Her warm snout pressed into his palm.
A surge of joy flooded through him.
“I’ve finally found you.”
Frostflame blinked her violet eyes, her snout still resting against his hand.
A low rumble rose from her throat.
Behind him, Thorne had gone completely rigid.
He could scarcely believe what he was seeing.
A dragon.
A living dragon.
He watched Frostflame lower her head and allow the black-haired boy to touch her.
His sword hand began to tremble.
Memories of the war more than a decade ago flooded back into his mind.
The Mad King.
Prince Rhaegar.
The Targaryens.
And the dragons that had vanished from the world long ago.
Thorne stared at Frostflame, then at Jon.
His breathing grew faster.
His knees suddenly gave way.
He dropped heavily into the snow.
Amid the swirling wind and snow, only his stunned voice could be heard.
“Seven hells…”
…
The campfire gradually burned low, leaving only a few thin trails of smoke curling upward into the frigid air.
Jon leaned against Frostflame’s broad neck.
Her warm body rose and fell gently with each breath, far warmer than he had imagined.
Frostflame was just as affectionate as she had been in his dreams.
The tip of her tail occasionally brushed against his leg, as though she were simply reassuring herself that the companion she had finally reunited with was still beside her.
Jon ran a hand across her scales.
They were real beneath his fingertips, warm and solid.
Looking into those violet eyes from so close, he found himself momentarily lost in the feeling.
Thorne’s gaze had never left Jon.
Ever since he had first seen Frostflame, he had remained silent.
Even now, he seemed not to have fully recovered from the shock of seeing such a great dragon alive before him.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you beforehand,” Jon said, looking at him.
“The reason I came here was to meet her.”
“You needn’t apologize, Prince.”
Thorne’s choice of address made Jon frown.
“Call me Jon.”
“You are Prince Rhaegar’s son.
Targaryen blood runs through your veins.”
Thorne glanced toward Frostflame beside him.
“And now you have a dragon at your side.
Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, in my eyes you are a Targaryen Prince.”
Jon saw the fervor in Thorne’s expression and chose not to correct him again.
Thorne continued, “Prince, how did you survive?
After the Red Keep fell, I heard…”
Jon glanced toward Benjen.
When he saw him nod, Jon answered.
“I am not Elia Martell’s son.”
“I was born at the Tower of Joy in Dorne.
My mother was Lyanna Stark, and my father, Rhaegar, secretly married her there.”
Thorne’s expression immediately grew grave.
“Then the child who died in the Red Keep…”
“That was my older brother, Aegon Targaryen.”
Thorne pressed on.
“Then why did I never hear that Prince Rhaegar had another wife?
Why did no one ever speak of your existence?”
“If back then…”
Benjen cut him off before he could finish.
“Jon is my sister Lyanna’s child.
If Robert had known who he truly was, he would never have spared him.
That is why he has had no choice but to live as Jon Snow all these years.”
Thorne fell silent, lost in old memories.
Jon spoke again.
“At Castle Black, you should still call me Jon.
I have no desire for everyone to learn that a Targaryen Prince has suddenly appeared among the Night’s Watch.”
Pulled from his thoughts, the Night’s Watch instructor immediately replied, “Of course, Prince Jon.”
This time, the name no longer sounded stiff when it left his lips.
He looked toward the sleeping Frostflame.
“Now that you’ve found your dragon, what do you intend to do next?”
Leaning against Frostflame, Jon answered, “The most important thing now is for me to learn how to ride her, and for her to truly grow accustomed to me.”
“With dragons returning to the world, the Seven Kingdoms will change dramatically.
If I ever have to go to war, I’ll need her help.”
Only then did Thorne finally understand why the Old Bear had insisted he come.
“So that’s why the Lord Commander sent me with you?”
“That’s not all.”
Benjen chuckled.
“Mormont also asked me to tell you that once we’re back at Castle Black, you’ll be responsible for teaching Jon swordsmanship and tactics.”
Thorne paused, then looked toward Jon with open delight.
“It would be my honor.
If the Prince is willing to learn, I will teach you everything I know.”
“Then I’ll be in your care, Ser Thorne.”
Jon smiled and turned his attention back to Frostflame.
The night wind swept through the valley, carrying away the final sparks of the dying fire.
Frostflame lay quietly beside Jon, her deep, steady breathing sounding softly through the stillness of the snowy night.