4. Arrival

Winterfell

Gaemon POV

103 AC

Gaemon stood before his cousins and Lady Stark, surrounded by all his belongings, as the guards of House Stark prepared to escort him away. A few feet away, his father, Daemon, watched with visible impatience.

“I will return soon enough; there’s no need to act so gloomy,” Gaemon tried to lighten the mood. His words earned smiles from Lady Stark and his cousin, Bennard.

“We know. No place but the North can keep you for more than a few days,” Rickon, his cousin, replied teasingly.

“Hey! That was uncalled for,” Gaemon huffed, turning his head away from Rickon. But a moment later, he found himself embraced by Lady Stark, and all his faux anger melted away.

“I’ll miss you. Come back quickly. I don’t know how I’ll manage with these two ice-cold sculptures without you around,” Lady Stark said softly. Gaemon nodded in her embrace, and when she released him, he caught a glimpse of Lord Stark’s raised eyebrow and Bennard’s smirk, which brought a smile to his face.

“Do not neglect your training, cousin. Practice what I’ve taught you. I expect improvement when you return; if not, I will increase your training,” Bennard warned, his expression serious. Gaemon nodded, determined not to slack off. He planned to learn as much as he could from the King’s guards and Daemon.

Turning to Rickon Stark, Gaemon saw a momentary look of concern on his cousin’s face before it was replaced by a stoic mask. “Winterfell will always be your home. The blood of Winter Kings flows through your veins. If you ever tire of the South and want to return here to your pack, just send me a word, and I will come myself to bring you back,” Rickon promised. Gaemon felt a surge of happiness at the display of their bond, and with a final nod and wave, he walked over to Daemon Targaryen.

“About time you finished your farewells. I thought I might have to wait days for you to leave,” Daemon said, frowning as he looked back at the Starks watching their departure from the gate.

“They’re just worried about me, as any family should be,” Gaemon replied, as he, Daemon, and the guards of House Stark made their way toward Caraxes, who was resting a distance from the walls of Winterfell.

“They’re not your family. You’re not a Stark. You’re a Targaryen. And Targaryens are fire. How you can live in this frozen, barren land baffles me.” The Stark guards frowned at Daemon’s words, as he did not bother to speak quietly.

“Oh, am I Targaryen now?” Gaemon asked, mockery clear on his face. “Very nice of you to remind me.”

Daemon glared at him. “Do not try that tone with me, boy. I will forget you’re my son and remind you why they call me the Rogue.” Dywen, the captain of House Stark’s guard, attempted to draw his sword, but one look from Gaemon caused him to grit his teeth in anger and abandon the reckless action that could have cost him his life.

Daemon noticed this and merely smirked at Dywen, further infuriating him. After that, Gaemon fell silent, and before long, they arrived at the place where Daemon's dragon, Caraxes, was resting.

As they approached Caraxes, the horses began to squirm beneath them; for Gaemon, it was his pony. However, with a tight grip and a shift of his leg, Gaemon brought it under control and turned his gaze toward the dragon before him.

Though Gaemon had already glimpsed the dragon during his brief flight over Winterfell, seeing it up close revealed that the beast was nearly, if not larger than, some airplanes he had seen back in his world. But unlike airplanes, this creature breathed fire and was living and breathing right before him. Comparing them felt wrong because, in its own way, a fighter plane could also ‘breathe fire’ by dropping bombs like a hen drops eggs.

However, he digressed. Gaemon had to admit that, despite the questionable origin of these dragons, they felt magical up close. His awe-filled expression didn’t go unnoticed as Daemon laughed heartily while watching him. Gaemon quickly schooled his expression.

“Aren’t Caraxes magnificent? This is what it means to be a Targaryen, boy. Riding and taming them is our birthright. Ours is the House of the Dragon.” Pride and arrogance practically radiated from Daemon; in fact, everyone could see his pride manifesting in the real world. Gaemon was tempted to snort, but Daemon wasn’t wrong; they were indeed of the House of Dragons. And with this power, the Targaryens had become the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms.

Caraxes had awakened while Daemon secured Gaemon's belongings onto the saddle atop the dragon. Once finished, his father in this world began to pat and whisper Valyrian words to his mount, prompting the fearsome dragon to release a purring sound. As Gaemon observed them, Caraxes's gaze suddenly snapped to him. The golden orbs of the dragon met the royal purple of Gaemon’s.

Although Gaemon could somewhat read human expressions thanks to his previous life experiences, he struggled to do the same with dragons. This was beyond his expertise. After only a brief glance, Caraxes lost interest in him and, with a grunt, turned its attention to Daemon.

“Come, let us not delay any longer than we already have. The journey to King’s Landing is long, even on the back of a dragon,” Daemon called out. Gaemon nodded and prepared to dismount his pony when he felt a strong calling. 

Surprised, as he hadn’t experienced anything like this during his short time in this world, he knew he couldn’t ignore it. Closing his eyes, he realized that the call was coming from a creature he could sense through his warg bond. Determined to understand what it was, Gaemon focused on the source of the call. As he closed his eyes, the intensity of the call multiplied.

Making a quick decision, Gaemon turned his pony in the direction he instinctively knew he should go. “Boy, get back. My patience is wearing thin...” he tuned out Daemon’s voice as he urged his pony into a full gallop. The closer he got, the stronger the feeling became. Gaemon wasn’t sure how far he had traveled, but since it only took a few minutes, it couldn't have been more than 2 to 4 miles when he finally halted his pony at his command.

The call and feeling both left him as they were not there before a moment ago. Gaemon looked around to see where he had arrived. And it was Wolfswood near Winterfell, and all around him were dense canopies of trees containing old oaks as sentinels, and all different kinds. Before Gaemon can fully scan his surroundings. The sound of hooves came from behind him, and a rage-filled voice came just after, “This is where my patience ends. Child or not you will come with me or I dragged you by hair while you scream like bitch…” Whatever the words Daemon was going to say halted in his throat as a rageful expression changed to one of curiosity, and a concerned frown fell on his face. 

His hands crept toward the sword at his hip, moving slowly as if not wanting to alert whatever he had seen. “Gaemon, I want you to remain calm and slowly move toward us without making too much noise. Do not panic. It’s better not to look back. Just move,” Daemon said in a soft voice, one Gaemon hadn’t heard since their first encounter. “Do any of you have bows and arrows? If the gods are good, your answer is yes. Then slowly knock an arrow. Do not react quickly, as it will make the beast panic and respond violently,” Daemon addressed the Stark guards.

As Gaemon glanced back, he didn’t know what was ahead of him, but he could hear growling. From the sound of it, he was sure it was a wolf.

Gaemon understood that it was in his best interest to follow Daemon’s orders, but damn, he had always been impulsive, and patience was not a strong point in his previous life. Combine that with this young body, led him to slowly turn his head and assess the danger he faced.

“Now I know why Viserys sighs every time he sees me,” Daemon replied through gritted teeth, his exasperation nearly bringing a chuckle to Gaemon's face. However, that moment was quickly extinguished when Gaemon's eyes landed to the danger, that shocked him into silence. It seemed the Old Gods were generous today, allowing him to witness the sigils of both his paternal and maternal houses.

Standing before him was not just a wolf, but a Direwolf, the size of his pony. It had shiny grey fur that Gaemon longed to touch, and onyx-like black eyes that stared back at him like two dark holes. As Gaemon and the direwolf regarded each other, the creature tilted its enormous head in an almost endearing manner. 

“Don’t shoot him. It is for him that I have come here,” Gaemon said quickly, interjecting before Daemon could give the command to the archer who had slowly nocked an arrow during the exchange. 

Gaemon effortlessly slid off his saddle and approached the grey direwolf. Surprisingly, Daemon remained silent as Gaemon walked forward, coming within arm's length of the creature. Gaemon addressed the wolf, “You called me here. It was you, wasn't it?” he asked, as if expecting a response from a non-speaking beast.

The grey direwolf responded by tilting its head back and forth and closing the distance between them. Gaemon extended his hand, placing it on the wolf's head, which was much larger than his own. In that moment, he felt a familiar sensation return, but instead of a call, it was as if something was forming between them. When it was complete, he realized that what was returned to him was something he hadn't known was missing until that very moment.

Gaemon took a step closer and nestled his face into the fur of the now-bonded direwolf's neck. The softness of its fur and the euphoria from forming their bond filled him with feelings he had never experienced in either of his lives. “I’ll be damned! Do those beasts still roam the North? I thought they were long gone from this side of the Wall. It seems grandmother was mistaken,” Daemon's voice broke through the silence, revealing his surprise.

“Queen Alysanne was not wrong, Prince Daemon. Direwolves have long left this side of the Wall. Their return here and bonding with Lord Gaemon can only be a sign of the Old Gods. Our little lord is blessed by the Old Gods,” Dywen responded to Daemon.

“Prince Gaemon. Not lord, not anymore. My grandsire is dead, and with him his decrees. I am my brother’s heir, and Gaemon is my son and heir. Therefore, he will be addressed by the title that is rightfully his, as prince of the realm.” Daemon said, a hint of anger detectable in his tone. Gaemon sensed that Daemon's frustration stemmed not from his son Gaemon being called a lord, but from the notion of his son being titled as Lord by the Old Coot’s decree, which felt like a personal slight to him.

Gaemon released the embrace he had with his direwolf. “I should give you a name. I can’t just call you my direwolf during my monologue,” Gaemon said. “Let’s see… you’re male. How about Fenrir? No, that doesn’t fit. What about Winter? Not quite right either.” Gaemon rubbed his temples, thinking hard about a name that his direwolf might appreciate. “Aha! I know you’ll like this one. Buri! What do you think of that?” The wolf responded by licking Gaemon's face, leaving it wet and a little smelly. Gaemon shrugged this off and smiled as Buri, the direwolf, wagged his tail in happiness.

Buri, the God of creation, born from ice. Technically, he was licked free, but either way, the name suited his direwolf, and that was what mattered. As he petted Buri’s large head, Daemon approached, trying to examine the direwolf up close. This provoked a growl from Buri, who was ready to lunge at the Prince of the realm. However, Gaemon calmed him down with gentle pats, relying on the bond he shared with Buri.

“A feisty one! I like this one,” Daemon said. He either pretended to be unconcerned or genuinely trusted Gaemon to restrain Buri, as he made no move to defend himself when Buri nearly attacked him—had it not been for Gaemon’s intervention. “So, Gaemon, would you like to bring him to King’s Landing? It would be entertaining to see the nobles fumbling and trembling at the sight of him. Although dragons are fearsome, their size prevents us from having them with us all the time.” Daemon wore a devious smirk as plans began to formulate in his mind, envisioning ways to scare the lords of the realm.

Gaemon was ready to order Buri to travel south, even without Daemon's request, as he did not want Buri to stay behind while he went to King’s Landing. Thus, he nodded in agreement with Daemon’s suggestion.

“Excellent!” Daemon exclaimed. He then turned to Dywen. “You! Go to Lord Stark and inform him that I would like Buri—was it? Yes, Buri—to be brought to King’s Landing with respect and care as a bonded direwolf, one that belongs to the Prince of the realm.” The Stark guard nodded at Daemon’s directive.

“There’s no need for that, Dywen. Buri will make the journey to King’s Landing on his own,” Gaemon stated.

“But, Gaemon, it could be dangerous for Buri to travel to King’s Landing alone and unprotected. There are many lords along the way who would love to have him as a trophy or to make a pelt for their lady wives. Not to mention, how could he find his way to King’s Landing if he doesn’t know where it is? If you think this Buri will be able to follow us, then I highly doubt that,” Daemon said patiently, his tone soft as if he were teaching a child.

“You don’t have to worry about that. Buri can protect himself. As for how he will find his way to King’s Landing, you’ll just have to wait and see,” Gaemon replied, smirking mysteriously.

“Have it your way, then. You’ve inherited far too many of my traits, more than I like. Though your mother was no less stubborn than either of us. Now, if you’re done with Buri, let us be off; we’re already late.” With that, Daemon strode toward his horse and made his way to where Caraxes was waiting for them.

Gaemon, who noticed the look on Daemon’s face when he mentioned Gaemon’s mother was lost in thoughts, snapping out of his thoughts as he petted Buri and mentally commanded him to travel along the newly made Kingsroad. He would warg Buri from time to time to guide him once Gaemon reached King’s Landing.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Riding a dragon was an experience that you couldn’t fully describe to someone else, Gaemon felt confident in saying. No matter how detailed your description, the other person would not truly understand. The freedom and wind were sensations that one had to experience for themselves. Unfortunately, very few had the privilege to feel the sky and freedom as almost all Targaryens did.

Gaemon and Daemon—he noted the rhyme—were flying day and night, only taking breaks for Caraxes to rest and eat. And gods be good, Caraxes did eat; now Gaemon understood why breeding too much dragons could be such a significant problem. Gaemon had left Winterfell yesterday around midday. Now, with the sun set, stars and the moon shone clearly in the sky.

During this rough thirty-six-hour journey, Caraxes had consumed more than ten full-grown horses and some cattle. Daemon explained that this was due to the continuous flight Caraxes was undertaking. Out of curiosity, Gaemon asked how much Caraxes ate daily, and the answer shocked him: Caraxes typically ate four full-grown horses if he wasn’t in the mood to hunt in Blackwater Bay. After some calculation, Gaemon found out that the ludicrous amount of meat needed to satisfy the appetites of ten fully grown dragons could nearly make horses extinct in Westeros in a few years. It seemed apparent that dragons were not for poor people, but anyone who owned a dragon wouldn’t likely remain poor for long.

Nevertheless, this new information answered many questions Gaemon had about dragons from his previous life. With nothing to do, he started calculating how many horses or tons of meat would be needed for five fully grown dragons. The number was staggering; Gaemon realized that only a handful of noble houses—he could count them on one hand and still have fingers left—could afford that. He shook his head and looked ahead to enjoy the stars. Not long after, Daemon shouted, “We’ve arrived.” Though his voice was muffled by the wind, Gaemon heard him.

He looked down to see a square-shaped city built around three hills, surrounded by massive walls. The buildings were numerous, containing large mansions, arbors, and markets. However, Gaemon’s gaze was drawn to the red structure atop one hill. The color of the Red Keep, illuminated by the moonlight against the dark sky dotted with stars, was a sight to behold. Watching this scene was akin to seeing a dragon for the first time; both events were something Gaemon would never forget.