The White Dragon - The storm that looms over us. (Patreon)

Lord Eddard Stark, Forest of Estonia – Midgard

“Stand, Uncle,” Jon said—no, Aemon—while Eddard slowly lifted his face and rose to his feet.

For a moment Ned simply stared.

His beloved son had grown.

His expression was calm and serene, but there was an authority there that had not existed before. Something older and powerful seemed to rest behind his eyes now, something heavy and commanding.

This was Aemon Targaryen, a true Dragon Lord of old.

The colossal roots around them shifted softly as if responding to his presence. The air hummed with quiet power, and the great branches of the World Tree whispered above them like distant thunder.

“I am surprised you were able to navigate the roots of Ygdrasill” his nephew said as he walked toward them, gesturing for Howland and Arthur to stand.

“I thought such knowledge had been lost in Vanaheim.”

“Vanaheim?” Arthur asked uncertainly, yet his eyes devoured Aemon’s face with intense attention.

Ned understood him to be honest.

Aemon was the perfect blend of his parents. Just as Ned could see the clear features of his beloved sister in the young man’s face, Arthur could recognize the features of his old friend.

“Vanaheim is the name of the world where Westeros lies,” Aemon said calmly.

“One of the nine realms beneath the influence of Yggdrasil, the World Three”

Though in truth, Eddard had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

“My king, my name is Howland of House Reed,” the small man said as he bowed his head and knelt again, this time formally.

“An old friend of your mother. My sword and that of my people are yours.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Lord Reed,” Aemon said with a gentle smile.

“My father spoke wonders of you. When we were children my brother Robb and I often asked about your legendary duel with the Sword of the Morning.”

His gaze shifted.

“A pleasure to meet you as well, Ser Dayne.”

The blond knight immediately dropped to one knee and said.

“My king, my sword is entirely at your service.”

“Rise with pride, Ser,” Aemon replied calmly, while looking around and frowing, like he was able to see or sense something they don't.

Maybe that was the case.

“Our time is short. I can feel the branches of Yggdrasil retracting. Your time here is ending.”

The Dornish knight rose quickly and nodded.

Eddard stepped forward.

“Son… where are we? What is happening? How did you come here?” the Lord of Winterfell asked.

He had hundreds of questions and, apparently, very little time to ask them.

Aemon smiled softly before speaking.

“It was… a night in Winterfell. Just after a long lesson with Mikkel and an argument with the Septa.”

His gaze drifted briefly toward the massive tree above them.

“I heard a voice.” he said, losing himself in his memories it seems.

“A feminine voice. Warm… maternal, the heart tree whispered things to me.”

“And suddenly I left Winterfell and arrived here, to Midgard.”

Pleasant memories, Ned thought as he saw the nostalgia and quiet happiness in his nephew’s expression.

“Here…” Aemon continued.

“I awakened the gifts of my blood, both Stark… and Targaryen.”

Ned watched as Aemon slowly raised his hands.

Magic ignited instantly.

In his right hand crimson flames appeared, threaded with black lightning that kissed his palm like living serpents.

In his left hand frost formed instantly, permafrost spreading across his fingers as jagged shards of ice crystallized in the air.

Just witnessing it made Eddard freeze in place.

He had never believed magic to be real.

Until tonight.

The air itself seemed to grow colder and hotter at the same time, as if winter and dragon fire shared the same breath.

“You have grown a lot, my son,” Eddard said with a sad smile.

Aemon looked at him calmly and nodded.

“Much has changed.”

“Truths of the past. Truths of who I am.”

There was no reproach in his voice.

Yet Ned could not stop the shame rising within him.

Eddard could only spoke.

“The plan was to tell you everything when you turned fifteen. I would send you to Dorne with Arthur so you could continue your training, begin making allies, meet your betrothed and—”

“Betrothed?” Aemon asked carefully, looking directly at his father.

“What are you talking about?”

Eddard nodded slowly.

“Your… betrothed. Margaery Tyrell.”

“The one who will give us the Reach so we may take your throne from the Baratheons, Arryns and the Lannisters.”

Even as he spoke, the Lord of Winterfell felt a strange unease forming in his chest.

Aemon fell silent.

“Oh.”

That was all he said.

The young Dragon Lord seemed lost in thought, his gaze drifting briefly toward the immense branches above them.

“Is everything alright, son?” Eddard asked, watching his reaction, expecting perhaps excitement or determination.

Instead he found calm.

Too much calm.

“We will have to discuss that matter thoroughly when I return to Westeros, father,” Aemon said finally.

“For now I—”

A thunderous cracking sound interrupted him.

The colossal branches surrounding them began shaking violently, as if the entire forest had suddenly awakened.

The roots beneath their feet trembled like living things.

“What in the seven hells was that?” Eddard asked, looking toward Howland, who seemed just as confused.

Aemon answered.

“Your time is ending, father.”

His voice carried urgency now.

“Give me your hand.”

He extended his hand toward Eddard.

Without hesitation, trusting his son completely, the Lord of Winterfell obeyed.

The moment their hands touched—

Power struck him like lightning.

Eddard gasped.

It felt as if a thunderbolt had slammed directly into his arm. Raw energy surged through his body with overwhelming force.

The sensation was unbearable and exciting.

The Lord of Winterfell collapsed to one knee before his nephew.

“AHHHHH—!”

Pain burned through his hand.

A brilliant white glow erupted from his palm as something ancient within him stirred for the first time in decades.

Something that had slept within Stark blood for generations.

“Lord Eddard of House Stark,” Aemon said with solemn authority.

“Do you swear loyalty to Aemon of House Targaryen?”

There was no hesitation.

“I swear!”

The pain vanished instantly.

The burning faded.

And something new appeared upon his hand.

A ring.

“Gods…” Arthur whispered as he stared at the object forming around Ned’s finger.

The ring was black.

Not ordinary metal, but something deeper—something that seemed to absorb the surrounding light.

Its surface was engraved with Valyrian runes, unknown to the Lord of Winterfell.

On one side stood the wolf of House Stark.

On the other, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen.

But what unsettled Ned the most was the way the metal pulsed faintly.

Like a heartbeat, something unnatural in a jewelry.

something magical.

“It is a vassal ring, my lord,” Aemon said calmly. “I officially recognize you as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

Around them the immense roots of the World Tree began retracting violently, the branches twisted as if reality itself were folding inward.

Even Aemon’s form began to flicker slightly.

“What is happening?” Arthur asked cautiously.

Howland answered before Aemon could.

“The threshold is closing, we are running out of time.”

“And remember…” Aemon continued, his voice calm but carrying a strange weight, as if the words themselves were binding.

“Winter is coming.”

“And when it does…”

“It will come with fire and blood.”

For a brief instant the entire forest seemed to fall silent.

Even the wind stopped moving.

Then—

A blinding white light erupted around them.

The immense roots and branches of the World Tree shook violently as if reality itself were unraveling around them. The colossal roots that had surrounded them moments ago began retracting rapidly, disappearing into the ground like living serpents returning to their burrows.

Aemon’s figure began to blur.

His body became slightly translucent, as if he were already slipping beyond the boundary that separated their worlds.

Aemon raised his voice one final time, the urgency now impossible to ignore.

“Father, I will return to Westeros in time.” he said firmly.

“With an army… and dragons behind me.”

The branches above them groaned loudly as the entire vision collapsed around them.

“Until then,” Aemon continued, his voice echoing strangely through the collapsing roots, “keep yourself safe.”

“Protect the pack.”

Then the light exploded.

A brilliant white flash swallowed everything around them, the immense roots of Yggdrasil vanished and the branches disappeared.

For a fraction of a second the three men saw Aemon’s silhouette standing among the collapsing roots like a figure carved from living flame.

Then—

Everything was gone.

The light blinded them for a moment.

When their vision returned, they were standing once again inside the Godswood of Winterfell, the familiar heart tree loomed silently above them.

Arthur was the first to move.

“Shit…” he muttered as he struggled to stand.

“That was intense,” said the Lord of Winterfell, still slightly disoriented as he pushed himself to his feet.

“But stimulating,” Howland said with clear excitement in his voice as he looked toward his old friend.

“Our king is safe, prospering and growing.”

“We have the confirmation we needed, Ned!” Arthur said with a smile on his face.

Ned simply nodded, still somewhat disoriented as he stared down at the ring on his hand, now examining it with greater care.

The ring was black.

Its surface was engraved with Valyrian runes completely unknown to the Lord of Winterfell.

On one side was the sigil of House Stark.

On the other, the dragon of House Targaryen.

And in Ned’s finger the metal pulsed faintly.

Like a beating heart.

Magic.

Clearly magic.

The magic that his beloved nephew now seemed to command with terrifying mastery.

Ned raised his gaze to respond to Howland—

Only to notice that both Arthur and the crannogman were staring toward the forest.

Someone was approaching through the trees, someone Eddard recognized instantly.

“Princess,” he said neutrally.

Their relationship was still tense, even after all these years.

“Lord Stark,” she replied in the same tone as she approached Arthur with concern.

“What happened?” she asked, caressing the knight's chest.

“When I arrived I saw the three of you lying on the ground. For a moment I feared something terrible had happened.”

The princess gently touched Arthur’s face.

Ned frowned slightly.

He did not find the closeness appropriate.

But after the nights he himself had spent with Ashara, it would have been hypocritical to reproach Arthur for anything.

“I saw him, Elia!” Arthur exclaimed with obvious pride.

“I saw Aemon! strong, powerful, and gallant!”

Elia smiled but to Ned it was clear that the smile was tense, being generous.

Her face showed that the princess was pleased by Arthur’s words, yet she also held conflicting feelings about it.

“And where is he? i would like to meet him,” the princess said while looking around with confusion, expecting to see the son of her deceased husband.

“He is not here, he is… far away, we saw him through the tree!” Arthur said excitedly.

“You saw him… in the tree…” Elia said slowly, as if trying to understand Arthur’s words.

“Yes!”

“He was on a battlefield with his army and his dragon!”

“He fought with ferocity!” the Dornish knight continued.

“Arthur dear, what are you talking about?” Elia asked, now genuinely concerned.

Arthur shook his head and looked toward Eddard, asking for help.

The Lord of Winterfell sighed and nodded slowly.

“Aemon is alive,” he said calmly.

“He is safe, prospering and growing, Arthur’s words are true he possesses an army and a dragon named Arraxys.”

Elia looked toward Arthur for confirmation while the knight nodded proudly.

The princess appeared both relieved and intrigued.

“Your words are a relief, Arthur, do you have any idea when he will return?”

“Soon,” said Eddard."Those were his last words”

“It seems he is fighting a war wherever he currently is, we did not have much time to speak.”

Elia nodded and opened her mouth to say something—

But she was interrupted by Howland.

The crannogman was staring toward the castle with a deep frown.

“We have company, Ned,” he said urgently.

Immediately Elia and Arthur covered their faces and moved behind the enormous heart tree.

Just as Catelyn arrived in the Godswood.

“My lord husband… I did not know you had company,” Catelyn said with surprise.

“Lord Reed, I was not aware of your visit,” Lady Stark said as she looked between her husband and the small lord with curiosity.

Ned stepped forward.

“What is it, Catelyn? Howland and I were discussing a few matters.”

The Lord of Winterfell spoke calmly, though in truth he wished his wife would leave.

He had much to discuss with Arthur and Elia.

Catelyn looked at her husband with surprise before quickly shaking her head and handing him the parchment.

“A message from King’s Landing, my love. I am very sorry.”

Ned took the letter.

When he read what was written there, his face filled with shock and uncertainty.

He could hardly believe what he was reading.

“Is everything alright, my lord?” Howland asked cautiously.

Ned did not respond for a long moment.

Then he slowly lifted his gaze toward his old friend.

“Jon Arryn is dead and Robert is riding for Winterfell.”

At those words absolute silence fell over the Godswood.

The air grew heavier.

And Ned Stark felt anticipation rising sharply in his chest.

The Game had changed completely.

And the plans would need to change as well.

As soon as possible.

Jon Arryn — Somewhere in the Crownlands, Westeros

Darkness.

His body… felt heavy.

Heavier than ever before. No matter how much he tried, it was impossible for him to open his eyes.

“Wake him,” said a voice.

Familiar, cold and calculating.

But known to the old man.

Jon paid it little attention, truth be told. His body felt completely relaxed, and no matter how much he tried, it was impossible for him to stand. He simply felt… good.

For the first time in a very long time.

Alas, like everything in his damned life, nothing good could last.

Jon suddenly felt a large amount of water thrown directly onto his face.

Cold and probably dirty, judging by the foul smell that invaded his nose.

Lord Arryn immediately jolted upright.

“What in the seven hells—” he said urgently, breathing rapidly, overwhelmed by the sudden shock of the water hitting his face.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” the Lord snapped, looking around as soldiers of the City Watch completely ignored him and roughly pulled him to his feet.

“LET GO OF ME! DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM? I’LL HAVE YOU HANGED FOR—”

The tantrum of Lord Arryn was interrupted by the same voice he had heard moments before.

“For the love of the gods Jon, shut the fuck up and come here.”

That voice made the old man freeze.

Slowly, he turned toward its origin.

And he was petrified by what he saw.

There was a simple table with two chairs set upon a cliff overlooking the ocean. From the color of the water it was obvious they were somewhere near Blackwater Bay.

And sitting there—

“Robert?” Jon asked, completely stunned by what he was seeing.

There was no trace of the obese fool he had called king for years.

Instead, a man with a body forged by the gods themselves looked at him with cold indifference.

Clad in the colors of House Baratheon.

Short hair and thick beard.

The man looked exactly as Jon had always imagined Robert during his youth would look as an adult.

“What the hell is happening?” the stunned old man asked.

The stranger stood up slowly.

He lifted a magnificent war hammer, different from the one Jon had seen resting in the Red Keep for years.

The imposing colossus walked calmly toward Jon with absolute dominance in every step.

Then he simply said:

“We have much to talk about, but first reaffirm your loyalty to House Baratheon.”

The command was not shouted.

It did not need to be.

Jon Arryn froze for a moment.

But one thing he knew with certainty.

A new player had emerged on the board.

And those who believed themselves masters of the game…

Had become mere pieces.

The board of the Game of Thrones had changed.

Of that he had no doubt.

Slowly, the old man knelt.

“House Arryn swears loyalty, again, to Robert of House Baratheon,” he said solemnly.

Robert nodded once.

Then he turned and began walking back toward the table.

“Come and eat with me,” he said. “we have much to plan. i give the order to my bastard brother to bring the northern dog to King’s Landing.”

“We must prepare everything for his return.”

Jon Arryn rose to his feet.

He simply nodded and walked toward the table.

There was much to be done.