Winterfell, the Lord’s study.
Eddard’s curiosity was piqued by Jon’s words.
“A dream?”
“Yes, Father.”
“For several nights now, I’ve dreamed that I was walking through a cavern deep underground.”
“Far inside it, there’s a huge white beast, larger than a warhorse.
Its body is covered in scales, and it has purple eyes.”
“When it breathes, white mist comes from its nostrils, with tiny sparks mixed in.”
Snap.
The tip of Eddard’s quill suddenly broke.
A drop of thick black ink fell onto the ledger and quickly spread across the page.
Eddard looked down at the broken quill in his hand, his fingers trembling slightly.
“You said…
it was white?”
Jon failed to notice anything unusual in Eddard’s reaction and nodded.
“I searched through a lot of books in the family library today.
It looked very much like one of the dragons from the old stories.”
“But Father, when it looked at me in the dream, I wasn’t afraid at all.”
Jon looked up at him, confusion on his face.
“Instead…
it felt as though I’d known it for a very long time.”
“It felt familiar.”
The study fell silent.
Wind whispered through the gaps around the windows, while the pine logs in the hearth crackled softly.
Eddard picked up another quill from the desk, his voice calm once more.
“It was only a dream.”
“Dragons have been gone for a long time.
There is nothing strange about a child mixing stories he has read with his dreams.”
Eddard slowly rose, walked over to Jon, and ruffled his black curls.
“Don’t dwell on it.”
“Go on now.
Maester Luwin’s lesson will begin soon.
Don’t be late.”
Jon raised his gray eyes and studied his father for a moment.
Having received no real answer, he did not press the matter and simply nodded.
“I’ll go, then, Father.”
With that, he turned and left the study.
Creak.
The heavy oak door slowly swung shut, cutting off the soft footsteps of the child in the corridor.
The instant the latch fell into place, Eddard Stark sank heavily back into his chair and sat there for a long while without moving.
Lyanna.
The Tower of Joy.
The white young dragon.
The memories surfaced one after another in his mind.
“Jory!”
Eddard suddenly raised his head.
His voice was low and hoarse, carrying a rare urgency.
Jory Cassel, the captain of the guards, answered from outside.
“My lord?”
“Go to the great hall and bring Benjen here.
Now.
At once!”
…
In the great hall of the keep, the hearth was burning brightly.
Benjen Stark had four-year-old Robb sitting astride his shoulders.
Holding his nephew by the legs, he paced back and forth across the hall.
Little Robb clutched Benjen’s hair and laughed happily.
Jory Cassel approached at a brisk pace.
“Lord Benjen, the Lord is asking for you.”
Hearing that his brother wanted him, Benjen lifted Robb from his shoulders and set him on a nearby bench before ruffling his hair.
“Go find Maester Luwin.
I have something to take care of.”
Robb nodded obediently.
“All right, Uncle Benjen.
I’ll go now.”
With that, Robb jumped down from the bench and ran out of the hall.
Benjen watched him leave, then tightened the straps of his leather armor and followed Jory up to the top floor of the keep.
He pushed open the heavy oak door and immediately saw his brother seated behind the desk.
“Ned, what happened?”
Benjen approached the desk, instinctively lowering his voice.
Eddard did not answer.
Instead, he rose and walked to the door, addressing Jory and the other guard outside.
“Jory, both of you go downstairs.
I have something important to discuss with Benjen.”
The two men nodded.
“Yes, my lord.”
Eddard closed the door and remained there for a moment, listening.
Only then did he turn back to his brother.
“Benjen, how has the dragon been lately?”
Benjen gave him a puzzled look.
They had spoken about it not long ago, and he could not understand why Eddard was asking again.
“Its appetite keeps growing.
It eats an entire deer at a meal now, and sometimes a wild boar as well.”
“It’s growing faster and faster.
It’s already larger than the strongest warhorse in Winterfell.”
Eddard lightly tapped a finger against the desk.
“Have you noticed anything unusual lately?”
Benjen shook his head.
“I’ve been away from there for some time.
When I last left, I hadn’t noticed any changes.”
Eddard was silent for a moment before telling him what Jon had just said.
“Jon has been having the same dream for several nights.”
Benjen paused.
“A dream?”
He looked at his brother, clearly failing to see what that had to do with the dragon.
Eddard returned to his chair and motioned for Benjen to sit across from him.
“He’s been dreaming of that dragon.”
The confusion on Benjen’s face vanished, replaced at once by shock.
“What?”
Benjen had barely sat down before he shot back to his feet.
The legs of the chair scraped harshly across the floor.
“That’s impossible!
Jon hasn’t seen it since we took it into that cave.”
“They’re more than a thousand miles apart.
How could he possibly know the dragon is there?”
Eddard motioned for him to sit again, his expression grave.
“Jon described it to me.
White scales, purple eyes.
Even its size matches what you told me.”
Benjen braced both hands against the edge of the desk, his knuckles slowly tightening.
“Targaryen blood…”
“Ned, we know far too little about dragons.”
Eddard seemed lost in thought and gave no answer.
Seeing his brother’s expression, Benjen frowned more deeply.
“The Greenseers and Skinchangers of the First Men, the Dragonlords of Valyria…
perhaps different Bloodlines have always carried different secrets.”
“But we know nothing about them.
Who in Westeros today still understands the long-lost knowledge of dragons?”
Eddard came back to himself and gave a bitter shake of his head.
“Some things cannot remain hidden forever.”
“Jon’s Bloodline seems to be calling to it.
Or perhaps this is simply a Dragon Dream.”
“If that dragon truly appears because of it…”
Eddard left the rest unsaid.
Both men understood what the return of a dragon to Westeros could mean.
After a moment, Eddard spoke again.
“There is something I’ve been considering.
I want your opinion.”
Benjen looked at him.
“What are you thinking of doing?”
“There is someone I have in mind.”
Eddard rose and walked to the window.
Beyond the swirling snow, the direction of the Wall disappeared into the northern horizon.
“I don’t know whether you remember, but more than ten years ago, Father took us north to inspect Castle Black.”
Benjen frowned and thought for a moment before shaking his head.
“I was too young then.
All I remember is how cold it was at the Wall.”
“We met an old man there.”
Eddard gazed out the window.
“If anyone in this world still knows why Targaryen blood can form a bond with dragons…”
He paused, then turned to Benjen.
“That man is at the Wall.”
Benjen’s expression slowly turned solemn.
Eddard spoke each word clearly.
“The Maester of Castle Black.
Aemon Targaryen.”