The journey to the North was a long one, a merciless one too, Daenerys had known that perfectly well when she had planned it and sent her party out in advance. There was much to do in Kingâs Landing after her conquest of the Seven Kingdoms, there were houses to intimidate and resistance to squash before it could grow to become an actual threat to her rule. One of the unanswered questions were of the loyalty of the North, she knew their Lord had been crowned a King once, but she had been told of what fate had befallen House Stark and the North prior to her arrival in Westeros. The North was weaker than it had been during the Usurperâs rebellion, but she knew better than to simply assume sworn fealty from a powerful house, so she made the North a priority and left the politics in Kingâs Landing to Tyrion to deal with. To save herself a considerable amount of time and to show her strength, she traveled on Drogon instead of by horse. She knew the dragons were a part of her identity now, she would forever be known as the Mother of Dragons, more so than simply Daenerys Targaryen. The journey was cold despite the fur-lined attire she wore. The further north she traveled, the harsher the chilly air bit at her cheeks. When a grand castle came into view, she knew she had arrived at Winterfell. There was a great forest located behind the castle, one of the characteristics about the castle and seat of House Stark, she had been told to look out for. She brought Drogon down close to the castle, but also far enough away not to risk any damage done to Winterfell. The dragon was still stubborn and easily provoked, she did not want to risk losing control over Drogon and accidentally start up a rebellion. Despite the cold, the black scales of the dragon was as hot as ever as she descended from her seat upon his back. Her silver-gold hair was tied tightly into a long braid which was thrown carelessly over one shoulder, her blue wrap dress made of thick wool clung to her figure as the wind swept over her. The form fitting pants she wore gnawed at her thighs, a consequence of being seated on dragon-back for so long. She wrapped her blue fur-lined cloak tighter around herself before beginning her walk towards the gates of Winterfell. The castle was impressive despite how it was undergoing reconstruction, she had seen the blackened ruins of burnt towers from the sky.Â
When she got closer to the gates, she could recognize the members of her party she had sent ahead of the journey on horseback among the crowd. The rest were unfamiliar faces to her, their clothes were darker and more simple than what the people wore in Kingâs Landing. Her blue garments stood out compared to the northern clothing, but this had been the intention all along, she was meant to stand out as the new Queen of Westeros. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a giant direwolf standing by the side of a man she had never seen before, but she had heard enough of him to recognize him even if he didnât stand regally in the middle of the small crowd gathered at the gates. The Young Wolf. A man only a year older than herself, the head of what was left of House Stark. She had heard many tales of Robb Stark, how he had led a rebellion against the Iron Throne after the execution of his father and imprisonment of his sister. He had won every battle yet he ended up losing the war. Tyrion had told her politics had ended up winning the war, an alliance had been formed in order to overthrow the King in the North. He told her conflicting tales of House Stark compared to what her brother had said, Tyrion called them honorable, Viserys had called them traitors of the worst kind. He had spat the name of Lyanna Stark with such venom, Daenerys had imagined them as being nothing more than foul beasts, however, she had eventually learned many of her brotherâs words had been lies. Robb Stark looked nothing like a beast, he stood tall and proud with a beast beside him instead. The wolf looked dangerous, she could hear how Drogon let out a mighty roar in the distance, almost as if he knew which creature she stood face to face. The direwolf was the sigil of House Stark, just as her dragons were the sigil of House Targaryen. She admired the wolf for a short moment before coming to a halt before the crowd, she stood directly before Robb Stark and her gaze quickly found his as she arched her back and held her head high. She could almost feel the tension as a thick air around them, people seemed to be holding their breath, carefully awaiting the reaction of the auburn-haired Lord. She decided to break the tension first. There was no room for a king in the North in her new world, the region was too important, too large to give up her claim over, and she had no intention to.
