Deep within Gorne’s Way, close to a fissure in the earth beneath the northern reaches of Westeros, the underground depths remained hot and humid throughout the year.
Natural hot springs and subterranean rivers crisscrossed the caverns, while lava and geothermal fissures constantly radiated heat.
These conditions were more than enough to sustain a dragon that should never have been able to survive in such a cold land.
More importantly, the entrance to the passage was extremely well hidden.
Even if someone stumbled inside by accident, anyone who did not know the proper route would soon become hopelessly lost among the maze of branching tunnels.
To protect a secret capable of overturning the realm, only three people knew of this lair.
Eddard Stark, Benjen Stark, and Howland Reed, Lord of The Neck and the sole surviving witness to the Battle of the Tower of Joy.
As Warden of the North, Eddard had to remain at Winterfell and could not be away for long periods.
Thus, Benjen and Howland Reed became the young dragon’s secret caretakers.
Fortunately, the dragon was far more intelligent than an ordinary beast of its kind, perhaps even more so than the great dragons described in ancient texts.
Over the past four years, it had rarely left its lair of its own accord and had caused the two men little trouble.
The Gift had long since fallen into desolation, and with the numbers of the Night’s Watch greatly diminished, no one had guarded this wilderness for years.
Now, only two people regularly ventured into the area.
Howland was responsible for hunting nearby.
Relying on the mysterious herbs passed down through generations of the Crannogmen and his skill at moving unseen, he continually sought out food for the young dragon.
Benjen, meanwhile, brought supplies from the outside.
Taking advantage of House Stark’s authority over the Gift, he made repeated journeys into the depths with fresh meat, whole sheep, and specially prepared smokeless coal.
The wind howled, and Benjen’s warhorse gave a weary whinny.
He tightened the reins and dismounted in a secluded valley.
After scanning the surroundings warily and making certain no one else was nearby, he approached the rock face and pulled aside a thick curtain of vines and dead branches.
A narrow crevice appeared before him.
Benjen led the three packhorses into the rocky passage.
The moment they entered, the stone walls shut out the sound of the wind and snow, leaving only the echo of their footsteps and hoofbeats.
The passage sloped steadily downward.
The deeper they went, the weaker the chill became, while the air gradually grew warmer.
After some time, the narrow passage opened into a vast underground cavern.
Clack.
A hoof struck loose gravel, and the sound echoed through the cavern.
Suddenly, a short, gaunt figure stepped out of the darkness.
He wore the dark green, supple lizard-skin armor commonly used by the Crannogmen, with a short dagger at his waist and several leather pouches filled with herbs hanging beside it.
On a nearby rock lay the gray wolf-skin cloak and black seal-skin cape he had removed.
The shortbow in his hands was already drawn, its arrow aimed at Benjen.
His gray-green eyes watched him with sharp vigilance.
Only after recognizing the newcomer did Howland Reed slowly relax.
He lowered his bow carefully and walked over.
“Benjen, you’re here a month earlier than we agreed.
Has something happened?”
“Something happened at Winterfell.
I needed to come early and check on things here.”
Benjen regarded Howland wearily.
“How is everything?
Is it all right?”
As he spoke, he began untying the ropes securing the loads to the packhorses, all the while studying Howland.
Howland quickly stepped forward to help and lowered his voice.
“Something is wrong.”
“Come with me in a moment.
You’ll understand when you see it.”
He wiped the sweat from his brow as he spoke, unable to conceal the gravity in his eyes.
Once all the supplies had been unloaded, sorted, and stored, the Lord of The Neck led Benjen deeper into the cavern.
Each man carried some meat.
The deeper reaches of the underground cavern were even hotter.
Warm air constantly seeped from cracks in the stone, keeping the place at a steady heat.
On a raised shelf of rock within the cavern lay an enormous white dragon, its scales gleaming faintly in the dim light.
Four years of geothermal warmth and plentiful meat had transformed the once frail hatchling.
It had steadily grown, and now it was beginning to resemble a true dragon.
Milky-white scales covered its body.
Sharp bony spines ran along its back, while broad wings lay half-folded against its sides.
It had grown noticeably larger since Benjen’s last visit.
Perhaps catching the scent of food and the familiar presence of the two men, the white dragon slowly raised its long neck and opened its purple eyes.
When it recognized them, a deep draconic rumble sounded from its throat.
Then the white dragon slowly rose and approached, hot breath billowing from its nostrils.
Benjen and Howland immediately set down the meat they were carrying and cautiously stepped back.
Even after four years of caring for it, neither man dared venture too close.
But instead of lunging for the food as it usually did, the dragon raised its head toward the south and gave a low, plaintive cry.
“Wooo…
wooo…”
It sounded as though it were calling for something.
“It started behaving like this about a month ago.”
Howland’s brow furrowed deeply, his gaze never leaving the white dragon.
When the beast showed no interest in eating, he lowered his voice, wary of drawing its attention.
“It refuses to sleep deeply and often paces around the cavern.”
“And it keeps making that same calling cry toward the south, as though…
as though it were answering some unseen summons.”
“A month ago…”
Benjen’s expression grew graver.
He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.
“That was when this started?”
Howland nodded.
Benjen quickly calculated the dates in his head.
The journey from Winterfell had taken him more than twenty days.
And Jon’s strange dreams had begun exactly one month ago.
The timing matched perfectly.
More importantly, the white dragon had spent all that time calling toward the south.
Winterfell lay in that very direction.
A suspicion began to take shape in Benjen’s mind.
He turned to Howland Reed with a grave expression.
“That is why I came.
I wanted to see the dragon for myself and find out whether anything unusual had happened.”
Howland Reed watched him silently, waiting for him to continue.
“A month ago, Jon began having a strange dream.”
“He dreamed of this place, and of this dragon…
Even its size and appearance were exactly as they were when I last left here.”
Howland Reed’s pupils contracted sharply.
He stared at Benjen in disbelief.
“A dream?”
“He dreamed of this place as well?”
“But how could that be possible?
This place is more than a thousand miles from Winterfell, and Jon has never been here.”
He looked toward the restless white dragon nearby, paused, then continued.
“Could Targaryen blood possess some power that we know nothing about…”
He left the rest unsaid.
At that moment, having received no answer to its call, the white dragon gradually fell silent.
It did not so much as glance at the food lying on the ground.
Instead, it returned to the rocky ledge where it had been resting and lowered itself onto its belly, occasionally turning its gaze toward the south.
The two men exchanged a look.
Neither spoke as they slowly withdrew from the dragon’s lair.
Silence settled over the cavern once more.