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“You’re doing fantastic, Bran!” Rhaenyra cheered as her cousin successfully cleared the first pole. “You’re a natural!”“If he falls off his horse like last time, Aunt Margaret will be furious,” Cregan warned.“Last time he fell because you distracted him,” Baelon’s voice was playful as he ruffled the younger boy’s dark curls. “That’s what aunt Margaret didn’t like.”Brandon was the youngest son of Margaret and Bennard Stark. He was protected, loved, and pampered, and Margaret did not like the idea that her youngest son was riding horses like a madman. The Starks were not well-known horse breeders and had never been involved in horse breeding. They mined coal, metal and, more recently, oil. They were amongst the wealthiest families in Westeros and the richest in the North, and equestrian sports were an entertainment they took very seriously. After Edric, the youngest of three Stark brothers, married Aemma Arryn, Rickon began to take horse sport and breeding more seriously, intrusting this new venture in Aemmas hands. The Arryn’s were known for their stables throughout the Westeros, and Aemma had much experience with them. Rhaenyra’s mother began the road to glory for Stark Stables and Rickon’s own wife, Gilliane Glover, took over it after Aemmas death.Fast-forward almost ten years, and Stark Stables, a family affair in the beginning, is now making its mark in the big equestrian sport. Some of the Starks, outside the family business, have found their passion in horses. Rhaenyra, aunt Gilliane’s trusted aide, is now actively teaching her younger cousins the art of riding, a sign of the family’s unwavering dedication to the sport.“If you keep bothering us, you’ll fall off yourselves,” Rhaenyra said, shaking the top beam of the fence on which Baelon and Cregan were sitting. “Aren’t you assigned to clean the stables?”“We’ve already finished with the stables,” Baelon declared with a hint of defiance. “We woke up with the workers and finished before breakfast… And after breakfast, we finished what we didn’t do before breakfast!”“Oh, well, look what amazing workers we now have,” Rhaenyra quipped.While the other children were enjoying their summer holidays, those two were enjoying their punishment. Their crime? Catching rats and releasing them into the main hall of Winterfell during the reception in honour of Aunt Gilliane’s birthday. The result was a mix of shock among the guests and shame for the family. Aunt Gilliane, in response, hired rat catchers. But uncle Rickon, furious, ordered Baelon and Cregan to clean the stables for the summer. And so, for the past two weeks, they’ve been diligently scrubbing away when they weren’t busy stirring up trouble with the rest of the cousins.Meanwhile, Bran continued to gallop across the field, jumping over poles. He had only recently started practising jumps and was still unsteady with this new discipline. His horse was a calm, filly horse that was well trained and, sometimes, knew better than the rider what to do in the arena. No matter how hard Rhaenyra worked with Bran, it looked like the boy wasn’t born for equestrian sports – he was insecure in the saddle and looked like he was thinking more about falling than learning. But he seemed to enjoy jumps! Rhaenyra believed he could grow into a great rider if he enjoyed doing it himself. So far, she was sure that Bran liked dancing and music more than horse sport and music and dancing were by no means the kind of activity one of the Stark men should be engaged in.Life in the North has always been challenging, shaping the expectations of its men. Among such families as the Starks, Boltons, Karstarks, Mormonts, Glovers and other old families, you would need help finding famous dancers or composers. Here, such activities were considered unnecessary, more suitable for the Country’s Southern regions, and almost feminine. Even northern women rarely indulged in such pastimes, preferring to engage in more practical and useful pursuits.Rhaenyra was not a northerner, and despite all the years spent in the North, the locals still looked at her as a southerner. It would not surprise anyone if she or her brother, Baelon, decided to practise music or dances. However, they were from Vale, and Vale was closer to the North in its customs and traditions than the rest of the Country. Rhaenyra danced perfectly and played the piano, too. She just didn’t put importance to such activities. She learned to play the piano as a tribute to her mother, whom Rhaenyra remembered, often spent time sitting behind the instrument and playing Old Valyrian songs. And on long winter evenings, uncle Bennard or Rickon would frequently tell them how much Aemma loved to dance in the Great Hall of Winterfell, amongst guests, with her beloved husband, Edric… Rhaenyra remembered her mother well, but some moments of her mother’s life had already faded from her memory, and she relied on those around her to remind her. Sitting at the piano or dancing with some boy made her feel closer to the woman Aemma was when she wasn’t her mother. Dancing and music were sentimental weaknesses that Rhaenyra allowed herself…No, all young boys and girls from the Old Families learned to dance. In the North, too, only if not to embarrass themselves in the ballroom. But Rhaenyra studied dancing more seriously, spending hours in Wintertown, in Madame Ross’s studio, dancing ballet, and her younger cousins, like little ducklings, often followed her. It was there that Bran became acquainted with ballet, and after, he often begged Rhaenyra to take him with her. Bran’s father didn’t like it, but Margaret considered it a much safer activity than horse riding. Aunt Margaret thought Bran had a delicate mental constitution and was very sensitive. Uncle Bennard thought that his youngest son was too feminine. Rhaenyra, with her more progressive views, believed that Bran was exactly as he was meant to be, and if he wanted to practise dancing, she willingly took him to the studio. After he had performed the necessary disciplines in the arena, nobody said that he couldn’t do both – riding and dancing.“Well done, Bran!” Rhaenyra congratulated her younger cousin when he was done with jumps.“Are we done?” the boy asked in a hopeful voice, and Rhaenyra, understanding his efforts, frowned thoughtfully. More than once, she thought Bran had realised that she would take him to dance classes if he worked hard with his riding. That’s why he tried so hard to jump the poles today.“Yes, we’re done for today,” she said. “Go with Baelon. He’ll help you to take care of the horse.”Aemma's belief that riders should be intimately involved in their horses' care led Rhaenyra to ensure each of them took personal responsibility. They could saddle a horse blindfolded, a skill they honed even before learning to ride. They diligently cleaned, washed, and fed their horses, with the younger ones receiving guidance from grooms, Rhaenyra, or their older cousins. For them, horses were not just animals to ride – they were their passions, a way of life that they had embraced since childhood under the influence of Gilliane and Rhaenyra.“Rhaenyra are you going to be here for long?” aunt Margaret came to see them, her voice echoing in the spacious courtyard of their family estate.“Bran has already finished. Baelon will take him to the stables, and I still have to work with Cregan,” Rhaenyra replied, watching as her brother helped Bran down from the horse.“Rickon, send me to find you,” Margaret said, standing beside her. “He wants to talk to you.” Rhaenyra’s curiosity was piqued. What could Uncle Rickon want to discuss that was so urgent?Like many northern women, Margaret has long since given up wearing dresses in everyday settings. Her high, worn leather boots, trousers and long, woollen jumpers with a cotton blouse underneath have already become a familiar type of clothing for Margaret. Rhaenyra didn’t even remember Margaret from the photos of her youth – a smiling girl with sparkling eyes dressed in colourful dresses… And was Margaret ever that girl? Maybe her parents forced her to dress like this while she was still an unmarried girl to attract the eyes of a potential suitor. Now, Margaret forced Rhaenyra to wear dresses for the same purpose – she was already seventeen, and many thought it was time for her to think about marriage. Perhaps, in her youth, Margaret was much like she was now – a stern woman with reddish brown hair in a tight braid, wearing pants and woolly jumper, with a hunting rifle at her back… She rarely used face paints, but she had no need for them – even in her thirties, Margaret was beautiful, enviously so. She seemed strict and rigid, but Rhaenyra knew how soft and caring her aunt could be, so she didn’t let Margaret's stern appearance mislead her.“Can’t it wait?” Rhaenyra asked, peering into aunt Margaret’s serious face. Something must have happened since Uncle Rickon sent for her, knowing that Rhaenyra was busy at this time.“No, it’s urgent,” Margaret declared, her voice carrying the weight of the situation. “You go ahead – I’ll take over with Cregan.”“All right then,” Rhaenyra agreed, her mind racing with the tasks she was leaving behind.Rhaenyra glanced at her younger cousin, who was already mounted on a horse and waiting for instructions, and waved goodbye to him. With a sense of foreboding, she turned around and headed towards the ancient castle, where uncle Rickon awaited her.The centuries-old castle, a bastion of history, has undergone several rebuilds and restoration works. Winterfell was set aflame during the War of Five Kings, but only the roofs and wooden buildings burned down, which were easy to restore. In addition, not all of the castle was burned out, so most of the antique furniture that survived the fire has been used for centuries. After Starks recaptured the castle from the Boltons, it took them several years to rebuild it and compensate for all the losses. As far as Rhaenyra remembered the stories, she knew that after the recapture of the castle from the Boltons, almost all men in the Bolton family were executed. There was only one survivor – a baby, born to Roose Bolton and his wife from House Frey, who was then raised in Winterfell until he came of age and grew up more Stark than Bolton.Many centuries have passed since then. The ancient castle was modernised to preserve its original appearance. Most of the castle has become a storage for the thousand-year history of the Stark family and the North itself. There were multiple levels of catacombs and hot springs under the castle, which helped the residents of Winterfell not to freeze in winter. Rhaenyra was surprised to learn that Winterfell did not need to carry out sewerage because the ancient builders had already carried it out when they built the castle, and so far, it has functioned better than a modern one. Her chambers had a bathroom where hot and cold water flowed from the tap. Not many ancient castles could boast of such an innovation as a sewage system, and in Winterfell, when they were fed up with baths, they went down to the hot spring pools.But the castle was not the place she was going to. No, she knew uncle Rickon would most likely be waiting for her in the Godswood. The Godswood, a sacred place for the Starks, was a small forest within the castle grounds where a weirwood with a face carved into it, stood – a window for gods to peek into the Realm of mortals. Despite all the centuries that have passed, the Starks have remained adherents of the Old Gods – a tradition so ancient that their names have long been forgotten and erased from the pages of history. And, although Rhaenyra herself did not profess this faith, she often found peace and solitude in the shadows of the Godswood, sitting under the ancient weirwood tree. Sometimes alone and sometimes with her brother and many cousins. Sometimes, one of the uncles would sit with them and tell them stories about their ancient heroes and their adventures – some were true, and some were just legends…On her way to the Godswood, she heard a recently purchased truck chugging in the yard—an innovation available only to a few families in the North. The North was so closed off from the rest of the world that progress reached them very, very slowly. The truck, a recent addition to the Stark family's assets, symbolised the changing times in the North, where traditional ways of life slowly gave way to modernity.Rhaenyra was all too familiar with the scene. People were crowding around the truck, unloading crates of weapons and ammunition. The recent unrest in the North had made such sights common, adding to the tension in the air.Glancing at the people unloading the crates, Rhaenyra walked towards the Godswood. There, she found her uncle Rickon sitting under the shadow of the centuries-old weirwood tree, looking into the pond next to him. The beauty of the place was breathtaking, with the blood-red crown of the tree reflecting in the murky waters, overgrown with yellow waterlilies. The serene atmosphere of the Godswood was a stark contrast to the tension in the air, offering a moment of tranquillity amid uncertainty.“Did you call for me, uncle?” Rhaenyra inquired, her curiosity piqued by her uncle's summons.“Rhaenyra,” her uncle's usually stern countenance softened into a warm smile at the sight of her.Rickon Stark was a towering figure, his broad shoulders and formidable strength commanding attention. A thick, well-groomed beard covered most of his face, adding to his imposing presence. His grey eyes, usually cold, softened only when he looked at his family. Rickon Stark was the embodiment of the North, and his mere presence was enough to announce his identity no matter where he went.“Has something happened?” Rhaenyra asked, sitting beside him on a large rock. Instead of the pond, she was looking at her uncle’s face.“Yes, my dear, I’m going to Moat Cailin,” he explained. “Those strikebreakers that we discussed, the Strongs, have already arrived and are waiting for me at the passing.”Coal miners have been fighting for several moons, demanding better working conditions and higher pay. The fact that it was the workers in the North who were striking plunged Rhaenyra into perplexity – in the North, workers were already paid more than in other regions of Westeros, and their working and living conditions were much better than most miners had. The North cared for its people more than money. But it was here where workers rebelled and would not calm until their demands were met. With a wary eye on the situation, Uncle Bennard believed that the whole strike was instigated by some instigators, sent here, most likely by Baratheon’s or Lannister’s – the main competitors of the Starks in the market.“How long will you be gone?” Rhaenyra asked, concern evident in her voice.“A week or two. It all depends on how many people the Strongs brought with them,” Rickon waved his hand in response. “But that’s not why I invited you. I have two pieces of news for you.”“Good and bad?” Rhaenyra joked.“Both are bad. Daemon Targaryen is coming to the North,” Rickon's tone was grave, instilling a sense of concern in Rhaenyra.Rhaenyra let her uncle's words seep into her mind, a bittersweet melody that echoed through her childhood memories. She searched for the image of a boy who carried colourful pebbles for a girl who cried because her parents were arguing again… The boy had silver curls and warm purple eyes that she found herself melting into…“And the second news?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice tinged with fear at the thought of Viserys Targaryen himself coming to the North.“I'll send you with Bennard to negotiate with the miners. Apparently, Viserys Targaryen is sending his brother to scout the situation with the miners. Everyone is afraid of strikes now. Strikes are like fires—when they flare up in one place, they can quickly cover the whole country, and no one wants that.”The uncertainty in her uncle's voice told Rhaenyra that the Targaryen’s were sending Daemon here not to scout the situation with miners but for some other, more nefarious purposes. Maybe they had something to do with the strikes, and Daemon was sent here for provocation? After all, while the North is busy trying to tame the strikes instead of mining coal, other companies can quickly take their place in the market. The Targaryen’s were just one of those companies – the largest, most ruthless, and most dishonest.“Can’t we block his path at the passing and keep him out of the North?”“It might be too late for this – rumour has it that Daemon is already in the miner’s camp. He had taken advantage of the arrival of the Strongs and all the mess they created at the passing, where he slipped unnoticed by anyone. Or, perhaps, he was guided along one of the mountain trails.”Rhaenyra didn’t like the idea of meeting her uncle Daemon. She was unfamiliar with that side of her family and wished things to remain this way. She vaguely remembered her childhood in Kings Landing, and after the divorce of Viserys and Aemma, she had no connection to that side of the family. Only in one of her memories did she remember her father’s face – twisted with anger when he was throwing Aemma out of the house along with her two children – Rhaenyra and Baelon, who were only weeks old back then. But she would not be able to refuse uncle Rickon if he wished for her to accompany Bennard to the miner camp, where she could meet with Daemon Targaryen. After her mother’s death, the Starks had become her family. They raised and took care of her and her younger brother. Rhaenyra’s bond with Uncle Rickon was so strong that he was more of a father to her than Viserys Targaryen could have ever been.“What if this is some kind of provocation?” Rhaenyra's voice was tinged with concern. The situation with the strikers was constantly teetering on the edge. She had never been present at the negotiations before but had heard uncle Bennard describe the situation as a gunpowder barrel ready to explode at the slightest misstep. What if Daemon's arrival is the match needed to ignite the gunpowder and blow up the barrel?“That’s why I want you to go with Bennard, Rhaenyra,” Rickon explained, his gaze heavy with a sense of helplessness. “From the moment your parents died till now, I have raised you and prepared you as well as I could. Despite you being a girl, I had taught you everything I know about our family’s business. I have done everything I could to keep you and your brother safe but with Daemon Targaryen in the North… There isn’t much I can do now. And you know it.”Yes, Rhaenyra was well aware of how dangerous Daemon Targaryen is. Westeros knew him as a bloodthirsty monster but also as a man of unwavering loyalty to his older brother and his family. Viserys used his younger brother as a tool to punish those who disobeyed him. Daemon was sent to deal with problems quietly and efficiently. He always cleared up all the loose ends that Viserys and Otto Hightower left in their wake. Baelon and Rhaenyra were such loose ends.“I don’t see how I can be useful in this situation, uncle,” Rhaenyra confessed. Rickon didn’t raise her like most men raised their daughters, nieces, or girls in general. But this was the North, and men here looked at their women differently. They were recognised as equals. It was not uncommon here, in the North, for a woman to run a family business, and Rhaenyra didn’t doubt her abilities. She doubted sending her to the miner’s camp, where an enemy lurked, was a good idea.“You’re the only one who will be useful to me there, dear,” Rickon, Rhaenyra’s uncle, replied, looking away. “I already know in advance that the negotiation will not be successful. What’s important to me is that Daemon Targaryen sees and recognises you there.”“But he already knows that I’m here! Everyone does,” Rhaenyra exclaimed, her surprise evident in her voice.“They all had heard rumours about you and your brother. No one has seen you since you left Kings Landing with your mother,” Rickon explained, his voice firm and unwavering. “I want them to see you. To see what you have become. That it won’t be as easy to pluck you out, like they did your mother.”“I don’t think they will care about it,” Rhaenyra admitted, remembering the night that her parents died – the loud sound of machineguns and flashes as bullets zipped through the darkness of the night, her baby sister in their mother’s arms, laying on the ground, illuminated by the car lights, the smell of blood and gunpowder in the air, the fear and terror she felt, while she pulled injured Baelon to the bushes, praying to the Old Gods and New that the men, sent to kill them, won’t look for them…“They don’t. But they will,” Rickon said. “Rumours are that the youngest Targaryen brother has fallen out of grace. Perhaps seeing you might make him think about the reason why Viserys had sent him here.”“You will use me to drive the wedge between them? Daemon would never fall for such nonsense. Velaryons already tried it and look what happened to them – brought to heel by none other than Daemon himself!”“That’s not what I want from you. No, I’m not trying to use you for that, but I hope it can help me bring the Strongs here by buying me some time. All I ask of you is that you divert your uncle’s attention from his purpose here,” Rickon continued. “He might have come here just for you, and you will let him think you are an easy prey… I know it’s wrong to ask this from you, but I have no choice. I cannot trust Bennard with this.”“You cannot trust uncle Bennard with this? As if he would work together with the very same people who killed his brother and niece!” Rhaenyra spoke brokenly, feeling her uncle’s words as a betrayal.“Someone helped Daemon Targaryen with his travels North. He crossed the passing… Bennard, lately, has been trouble for all of us. He is my brother, and I love him, but he has lost sight of what’s important. I cannot trust him anymore.”There had been a competition between the brothers for some time already. Bennard didn’t like playing the role of the second in command after his older brother. He wanted more. Everyone knew about it, even the children, but no one spoke out loud. The brothers often argued about how Rickon solved problems and strived for peace instead of showing strength. Bennard demanded more radical methods to deal with the strikes, while Rickon extended the negotiations… Perhaps, having received an offer of support from someone who would benefit from the leadership change in the Stark family, Bennard might have just accepted it. No matter that he had made a deal with the devil, as long as he got what he wanted.Rhaenyra didn’t want to believe it could be true, but she knew Rickon well—if he suspected his brother of something so terrible, it might be true.“I’ll do as you say,” Rhaenyra agreed, her loyalty torn between the two brothers. Rickon raised her, and her choice was clear. If it came down to it, she would always stand by Rickon. But the thought of betraying her uncle Bennard, the man who had also been a father figure to her, weighed heavily on her heart.
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Daemon embarked on a perilous journey to the North, navigating devious paths. The guide Bennard Stark sent was a bit… strange, to say the least, but Daemon didn’t complain as he guided the group through the dangerous passes of the mountains separating the North from the rest of the country. The worst thing was to wander the swamps – poisonous snakes, mosquitoes, beetles and other small animals and bugs, capable of killing you, did not give them rest even at night. It’s a miracle that they have survived thus far! Daemon, for all his arrogance, could admit that without the help of a guide, they would not have made it North unnoticed… or in one piece.It was Otto’s idea to support miners’ strikes in the North, and Viserys agreed, not seeing the danger that strikes posed to all owners of large corporations. Both saw only the short-term benefits of taking the Starks and the North out of the market. Yes, the strike had been going on for moons, and there was a shortage of stocks, which led to a rise in price and allowed them to fill the spot while Stark’s were solving their problems… But the long-term damage done by such strikes that lasted for moons, especially when Stark’s were willing to negotiate with the miners… Although, who was interested in Daemon’s opinion? The spoiled and arrogant younger brother of the great tycoon, Viserys Targaryen? And so, with the complete freedom to act, he went North to sow trouble among the miners. Viserys’s wife’s younger brother was also sent with him so that Daemon wouldn’t overdo his sense of freedom…Two days ago, they arrived in a mining town, and Daemon was struck by the stark contrast in the living conditions of the miners here compared to Dragonstone. On Dragonstone, such towns looked simply disgusting and stank of poverty from miles away. But here – cleanliness and neatness. The small shops where residents could buy all necessities were now empty, but those few miners who spoke with them all claimed that before the strike, the stock had been full, and only now, when the roads were closed off, they couldn’t get the necessary supplies. The small building on the edge of the town had been set aside as a doctor’s office – the doctor and his assistant used to come here from Wintertown several times a week but now had not been allowed into the town for a moon, if not longer. The miners insisted that they had no need of charity, that Stark was gracing upon them, so they suffered the shortages and lack of medical attendance – children starved, and people were ill. And Viserys wanted to support this?In the North, miners lived and worked in much better conditions than miners in other parts of the country. If they strike, how soon can you expect this from those who don’t have a silver coin left, even for a bar of soap on their payday? This strike could set a dangerous precedent for others to follow, and the support that his brother was offering to the miners could backfire. But what could he do? Daemon didn’t have a place at the table in his brother’s house, for it was taken away in favour of the likes of Gwayne Hightower!“Sober and clean,” Gwayne told him during their walk around the town. “Simply stupid then.”“What are you on about?” Daemon asked, following his train of thought perfectly.“They live better than the Lannister gold diggers! What don’t they like?” Gwayne was surprised. “They even have a school! Orphans here are well taken care of and not sent to work… in the North, only a few children work at all! They’ve settled in so well and still want more?”Daemon saw it all for himself. It was not for nothing that the North boasted that they cared more for the people than the profits.“We weren’t sent here to look,” Daemon reminded, but Gwayne laughed.“That’s all they sent me for. To make sure that Viserys’s faithful dog does not break loose!”Daemon swallowed his anger and ignored Gwayne’s last words. That’s how he was raised: loyalty to the family was not just valued, it was ingrained in his very being. Family was valued above all else. He is not ashamed of this and would not pay any attention to Gwayne’s taunts no matter how much his fists itched to smear this idiot’s smug grin off his face! The weight of his upbringing and the importance of family loyalty was a constant burden on Daemon, making him feel the need to suppress his emotions.“Watch so that you won’t get bitten!” Luthor, one of Daemon’s friends, threatened, glaring at Gwayne. The tension in the group was visible, and a thick fog of dislike surrounded Gwayne. But Otto insisted on Gwayne going with them. They say Daemon can’t be trusted—he is too wild.Before Viserys’s son was born, Daemon was considered his heir. But now, Viserys had three legitimate sons and Daemon… Daemon had become just a privileged, entitled, spoiled and unruly younger brother. Daemon was so fed up with Viserys not knowing what to do with him that he ran away from his brother to the war – World War I, they called it now, but in reality, it was just a squabble amongst few countries over the ownership of small islands in the Narrow Sea. The dissolution of Westeros as a Kingdom and its transformation into a republic was a significant turning point. Other countries saw this as a sign of weakness and tried to bite off some pieces here and there. Most were unsuccessful, but the three small countries in Essos came together and formed an alliance, trying to retake some barren islands in the Narrow Sea. It used to be a flourishing trade route but was mostly abandoned then, safe for the military fleet stationed there. Within the first year of the conflict, other countries joined in, and the full-blown war began.Daemon spent two and a half years on the front lines, enduring the horrors of war and witnessing his comrades’ sacrifices. He fought bravely but was grievously injured and sent back home. Upon his recovery, he was transferred to the reserves. When the war finally ended, he was rewarded for his bravery and sent home to cope with the physical and emotional scars he had acquired during his time on the front lines…Viserys found uses for his talents by putting the security department under Daemon’s control. But, in fact, Daemon just became the head of the squad of thugs who Otto assigned to do the dirty work while he and Viserys sat in the manor, basking in the fireplace’s warmth, and sipping a cognac, smoking an expensive cigar, dressed up in their old rich man velvet robes. Gwayne and his men – barely trained and capable of duty - were at the front of their security department, dashing young men dressed in suits who accompanied Viserys and his family everywhere. Daemon was the one who dirtied his hands for the company, for the family, while Viserys looked the other way, playing the part of the successful business and a family man with his picture-perfect half-Andal family, who stole Daemon’s inheritance!If those had been Aemmas children, Daemon would have understood. But no, Aemma was long gone, replaced by Andal and her children… well, this was another one of the secrets that Viserys Targaryen hid. Only a few knew – the children of his first marriage were raised by Starks, hidden away in the North. Rhaenyra and Baelon Arryn.Daemon’s memories of Rhaenyra were a bittersweet symphony – the little shadows that had followed him everywhere since she learned to walk. A ball of silver hair and infectious laughter with lilac eyes! He carried gifts to her as soon as he realised what giving gifts was – colourful pebbles and glass, foil candy wrappers, chocolates, beads, his mother’s earrings, silk scarves and handkerchiefs…. Everything and anything that he, still a child, could find in the house, he brought to her. Why? Because she always smiled when he did that, and it seemed to Daemon that she was the only one happy to see him in the house filled with people who barely noticed the two of them… He wanted her never to stop smiling at him, so he dragged all sorts of junk to her… However, often, Aemma was cross with him afterwards because half of the things that he ‘gifted’ to Rhaenyra should not be given to a child…But Baelon, he remembered only from the words of others – a sickly babe who would die by the end of the year… Maybe he would have died if Aemma had stayed. Perhaps the fact that Viserys kicked them out saved the boy’s life? He didn’t want to believe it, but shortly after Baelon, Aegon, Otto’s grandson, was born… Anyway, the boy did not die but survived. And grew up… How old is he now – thirteen, fourteen? And Rhaenyra?“They’re calling a meeting,” Luthor whispered, watching as people began arriving at the building in the town centre where the miners were meeting. “They know that Starks hired the knobsticks. This could be the spark that ignites the powder keg.”Yes, they passed them on the road North. Daemon knew them – the Strongs. Family from the Riverlands, who did everything one might require for an appropriate reward. On the surface, they were a legal and flourishing business – transportation. But scratch the surface, and you would be surprised to find a bouquet of illegal activity: smuggling, extortion, bootlegging, counterfeit… Daemon could keep going, but why? Everything is clear enough. Daemon often had business deals with them and knew one of the Strongs – Harwin. They served together... and were somewhat friends.“Things don’t look good,” Daemon replied, also in a whisper. “This will end in violence.”“Isn’t that what your brother wants? What he sent us here for?” Luthor chuckled, and he wasn’t wrong. They knew about the strikebreakers before the Strongs agreed to Stark's proposal. And they were sent here to push the situation to its limits, escalating the tension until everything would end in bloodshed and scandal so loud that even the Starks, indestructible as an ice wall they built centuries ago, would collapse. Daemon felt like Viserys had some personal matters with Starks, and if he counted Aemmas death, then perhaps he had.“Let’s join them,” Daemon suggested, heading for the building.Gwayne and Luthor followed his lead.It was warm inside the stone building with low ceilings and small windows. A fire was burning in the fireplace, but the miners also used two potbelly stoves to heat the spacious hall crowded with people. When they entered, the meeting had already begun, and the strike leader was already standing on the platform, hastily constructed from empty wooden boxes and planks. Daemon remained standing near the entrance, behind the crowd. Luthor stayed with him while Gwayne walked through the crowds of people closer to the front rows. Since the beginning of the strike, miners’ town was cut off from the main electricity supplier, so they had to reverse to the oil lamps to get some light in the room, but it still was not enough, and Daemon could easily hide in shadows, remaining an unnoticed observer of the events.“Silence, please!” Desmond Fellow’s voice, one of Rory Snow’s associates, cut through the hall. “Rory will talk!”A low murmur of whispers swept through the hall, and someone coughed, but then everything went quiet, and Daemn felt tension in the air. Rory Snow looked around the crowd and, taking a deep breath, began:“Starks are bringing bootlickers North!”After his words, the crowd erupted with a chaotic storm of indignation. Their voices overlapped in a cacophony of anger. Someone was yelling that they had warned them that Starks might do this, someone was yelling that the Starks were lying pigs… Daemon noticed how the strike leaders talked, and Gwayne joined them.“We’ve got to get out of here, Dae,” Luthor’s voice was urgent, filled with a sense of impending danger. “I do not like this, not one bit!”“You don’t like everything,” Daemon’s tone was dismissive as he waved Luthor off.“And I warned you, this would happen! Why would Starks agree to pay more?” one loud-voiced woman yelled, clutching a baby to her chest. “Was it so bad before? We were paid well, and the food was always on the table! The healer came to the town and treated people. Now what? I’ve already buried my daughter; I’ve had enough of this strike!”“When you buried your husband, then what was you saying?” the elderly man yelled back at her. “You were the one who shouted the loudest, demanding justice! The union will help you, the union this, the union that…. So? Don’t you need a union anymore? No rights? No raise in pay?”The workers union, a formidable force, was the large companies' worst enemy. Travelling from workers' town to workers' town, they created this organisation, united in their fight for fair workers' rights, pay raises, sick leaves and more. They often curated strikes such as this. They were not feared by people like Viserys or Starks, simply seen as annoying bugs that disturbed their work with such a silly notion as… rights. Daemon himself had dealt with them more than once. What was surprising to him was that the union was curating this strike, for as far as they knew, these unions found little support in the North, where labourers already had much better conditions than in the rest of the country. Turns out, he was wrong… What a twist! Does Viserys even know about it, or is this one of Otto Hightower’s many machinations? After all, Otto was no stranger to using unions to disrupt their competitor's business."I need to feed the children I have left, not strike! You promised this would last a moon, for the Starks would agree on our terms. It's been more than a moon, and the strike still has no end! The winter is here, knocking on our doors, and we still have not returned to work… What will happen when the cold comes? We have no light, no warmth!" the woman yelled, her voice trembling with fear and desperation. The consequences of this prolonged strike were dire. The workers and their families were on the brink of starvation and freezing to death."We need to do something! The Starks will open their mines for those bootlickers, but what about us? What should we do?" someone in the crowd shouted, sounding desperate. With their wealth and influence, the Starks held power in this situation. Several other voices joined in. It took a while to restore silence, but when the crowd was calm, Rory Snow returned to his place on the podium."We have closed all routes to mines, barred gates, and blocked all entrances—they won't be able to get in!" His voice was determined, a sign of the miners' unwavering resolve."They will try to break through with force, but we will not let them!" the man Gwayne was talking to yelled. “Our 'friends' from the capital have brought us weapons! We will defend our rights in every way we can…""Our 'friends' from the capital?" someone in the crowd, closer to Daemon, interrupted and pointed at Daemon and Luthor. "Are these the ones?"People began to turn, throwing hate-filled gazes at him and Luthor."They are offering their help to us…" the man tried to continue but was interrupted again."Help? He is a Targaryen! What kind of help did he offer to you? While we strike, their mines are working; the coin is rolling!"Again, people started to scream, their voices filled with anger, one louder than the other, and the hall erupted in chaos of furious voices. Luthor grabbed Daemon by the shoulder, pulling him towards the exit."Let's get out of here! We are no longer needed."This time, Daemon didn't argue and obediently followed Luthor. They did not walk around the city; instead, they returned to the house where they were staying. The same stone building, only smaller. Kitchen, living area and four small bedrooms, each with a fireplace. No bathroom – the locals here had steam rooms, similar to the ones in Essos, but there was more smoke and heat than the ones Daemon had visited in Essos. The toilet was a small hut outside, with a hole covered with a wooden box. The house was furnished with simple and practical wooden furniture, with no frills or any sign of luxuries. A woman came twice a day to cook and clean. She didn't talk, and one of the Snows associates explained that she was from Skagos and didn't know a word in common, but Daemon was sure that she spoke well in common and preferred to stay silent, so he ordered his men not to talk about any important matters in her presence. Now she was in the house too, cooking, so Daemon and Luthor went to the living area, where they sat down near the burning fireplace and exchanged glances.The strikebreakers' announcement certainly raised a storm, but they all had to keep playing their roles. And Gwayne was doing just that – he needed to steer the crowds of angry miners towards violence. Strongs would take care of the rest. Daemon didn't even have to do anything.Gwayne did not return until much later. The meeting was over, and the townspeople headed home. Perhaps someone still went to the small inn that used to be a bustling tavern, but ever since the Faith had prohibited drinking, it had lost its former glory. The air was thick with the smell of stale ale, and the tables were worn from years of use. Now drinks here were locally brewed and tasted like horse piss. Not that Daemon had never tried horse piss, but he guessed that that's how it might taste."Starks had called for the negotiations," Gwayne began from the doorway. "We are invited to join Rory and his men. Bennard Stark invited us.""That imbecile! He was entrusted to keep our presence here a secret!" Luthor erupted, his frustration apparent. "What in the Seven Hells is he thinking?""I'm not sure," Gwayne admitted, uncertainty in his voice. "Listen, I have this strange feeling that something might be wrong. Maybe we shouldn't go.""All is well," Daemon reassured, his voice a stark contrast to the others' unease. "Starks already know about our presence here. Bennard is simply doing his part. Nothing is wrong here.""Do you truly think it's wise for us to go?" Luthor's worry was evident in his voice, his concern mirroring Gwayne's uncertainty."There is no point in hiding," Daemon shrugged indifferently. "We knew that this would happen. In the North, no one farts without Starks feeling the stench. Even while striking, these people remain loyal to them – anyone could have released the whisper about our presence here.""Yeah, but our guns they welcomed with open arms!" Gwayne chuckled."Worry better that those guns won't be turned towards us!" Luthor didn't share his amusement. Instead, he put his guns on the table and began to clean them. "Dae, give me yours too. Maybe they'll come in handy, so it's best to be ready."Daemon reached for the revolver on his belt. It was just a negotiation, and no violence was expected, but as Luthor was saying, it is better to be ready for anything than to be… dead. Daemon learned this principle during his time in the war.The town was drowning in hunger, so their food was plain but still better than what most people here got to put on their tables. The famine had begun after Starks blocked all roads leading to the town, so no supplies were getting through. Some brought food – rotten potatoes and flour mixed with ash. People were growing desperate, paying hefty prices for low-quality products. After the strike, the people here would be even poorer than before. Daemon's purpose here only benefited if the locals blamed Starks for all misfortunes – the angrier and more desperate they grew, the closer to the inevitable conflict they all came.A sensible part of Daemon understood that a strike like this would be dealt with quickly and cruelly in any other region without much fuss and noise, however bloody and deadly it might be. He had witnessed such measures more than once and admired Starks's patience in putting up with this strike for so long. Not just put up, but try to negotiate, listen to their workers' concerns, and work through the issues… To tell the truth, Daemon liked this way much better, but who listened to his opinion anyway?"Are you ready?" Desmond Fellows knocked at their door after they had finished their meal. "We are leaving. It's not good to let Bennard wait—he has a shorter temper than his brother."Daemon stood up, and Luthor followed his suit. Blood and Cheese, two brutes at Daemon's employ, decided to stay behind, but Daemon didn't insist. Gwayne had left to discuss some matters with his contacts amongst the strikers and now was waiting for them outside. Gwayne's behaviour, however, seemed slightly off to Daemon, sparking a sense of intrigue. But he wasn't here to watch after his brother-in-law, was he?Outside, they were met by saddled horses waiting to be ridden. That didn’t surprise Daemon at all. People had yet to fully get used to cars, preferring the old way of transportation to loud, rumbling metal boxes. The North, in general, was not the most progressive region, and Daemon was sure that even after decades, people here would still use horses and carts.“It’s time,” Rory Snow nodded in greeting as Daemon approached him, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. “Bennard Stark doesn’t like to wait.”They mounted their horses and followed the group of rioters. The negotiations would be held in one of the warehouses where miners stored coals before loading them on trains. The warehouse should have been empty by now - all stored coals were used or sold, and there was nothing to replace them with because of the strikes. But to Daemon’s great surprise, the warehouse was not empty.“They have reserves that they don’t sell to anyone,” Desmond explained. They are always ready for the winter here, in the North.”They dismounted and waited. Horses were left tied outside the wide-open warehouse doors. The mud under the horse’s feet was all black from the coal dust. The atmosphere inside the warehouse was thick with tension, like a storm brewing on the horizon. Daemon watched silently as Gwayne annoyed Rory, who was staring in the distance with a bored expression while Gwayne was trying to engage him in conversation. The man hadn’t spoken more than a few words to them because Rory wanted little to do with them. He wasn’t interested in their suggestions or plans. Rory was here to negotiate with the Starks before the situation got out of control, and Daemon’s sole purpose for being here was to get the situation with the miners out of control. Their paths didn’t align, and Rory avoided the guests from the capital.“He’s probably the one who blabbed about us,” Luthor lamented, his eyes fixed on the miners’ leader, suspicion heavy in his voice.“Most likely, we were seen at the passing,” Daemon reassured his friend. “Or they spotted us on the way here.”“Bennard didn’t have to call us…”“He couldn’t. His brother tells him what to do, and he does. You know that.”It was to get rid of his older brother that Bennard made a deal with the Targaryen’s. The specifics of this deal were shrouded in secrecy, known only to Bennard and the Targaryen’s. He was tired of running errands, so he conspired with them to help him get his brother out of the way. In turn, he promised to create such a splash that this strike would be talked about for a long time. The benefit of the North in their conversations didn’t slip even once. How could he hate his brother so much? Daemon didn’t understand. Daemon served Viserys faithfully, even when he was angry and often pushed aside by his brother, but the thought of getting rid of Viserys never crossed his mind.But Bennard is not Daemon, and it’s not for Daemon to pass judgment, as long as Viserys’ desires are fulfilled in the end—like they always are—even if it is Daemon who ensures it.“They’re coming!” one of the men with them screamed, and Daemon turned in the direction that was pointed out to him.A group of people appeared from around the bend, with Bennard at the head. Next to him, riding a horse, dressed in a leather coat and with a hood covering his head, rode a smaller figure. Four more horsemen were behind them, and all were armed. The Starks, a powerful and influential family in the North, were so confident in their rule that they did not even think about security.Daemon watched as they arrived. All his attention was focused on a smaller rider because, as it turned out, it was a girl - a small, fragile girl with silver hair peeking out of the heavy hood. Rhaenyra? Could it be?.. Her appearance was so intriguing it left Daemon unable to look away.“Rory!” Bennard called and dismounted. “Brother!”“Bennard,” the man replied, and they hugged.That was… unexpected. Were Rory and Bennard brothers? How… Snow - that’s what bastards used to be called in the North, and although this habit has long been discarded, Daemon should have suspected that something like that was possible - Rory was suspiciously well-versed in Stark business! The revelation of their relationship added a layer of intrigue to the unfolding story.“Uncle,” the voice of his long-estranged niece attracted Daemon’s attention, but she was not calling him. No, she was talking to Rory, who walked over to her horse and helped her dismount.“Sweetheart, what a surprise!”The girl smiled, and Daemon… couldn’t get enough of her. Beautiful… She was beautiful and young… and looked so much like him, like true Targaryen, unlike her siblings - the fruits of Viserys’s marriage to that Andal. No, Rhaenyra was a daughter of their ancient house - pale skin, perfect facial features, distinctive hair, and eyes, all of which made her as ethereal and unearthly as any pure-blooded Valyrian. And she was hidden here, among the snows of the North?“I came here to meet you, uncle. You’ve been causing a lot of trouble for us lately,” her voice sounded like music in his ears. Even though she hadn’t spared a glance at him, Daemon couldn’t pull away.“I should have invited you to negotiations right away, then the problem would be solved much sooner - I can’t say ‘no’ to you, dearest,” Rory replied, smiling, while the man behind him laughed. Daemon realised that this was the first time he had seen the man smile. “But you shouldn’t be here… it’s not safe. With all these guests from the capital…”Then, her gaze finally settled on him, and Daemon froze. A memory of the night when her eyes had looked at him for the last time appeared in front of his eyes… it was a sad night.“Rhaenyra,” Daemon said, breaking the silence first. “It’s been a long time.”She smiled, although her gaze remained cautious, like a wary bird ready to take flight at the slightest provocation. They used to be so close, as close as two children can be, and Daemon always had felt her absence after she was gone, as if someone had taken away something so important that life had never been the same after. Now, she was standing in front of him, grown and distant, yet, at the same time, so familiar and dear…“Where is my treasure, uncle?” she asked, her head tilted to the side, a serious expression on her face. It was a playful inquiry reminiscent of their distant childhood. Rhaenyra’s innocence and trust in Daemon warmed his heart. She hadn’t forgotten her Daemon, who brought all his treasures to her like a magpie, taking all shiny things to his nest.While Daemon was distracted by Rhaenyra, Bennard and Rory whispered, and Luthor joined them. Other miners gathered around and looked at Bennard’s men with open hostility. Obviously, they were waiting for an excuse to start a fight. Always ready to protect, Daemon kept his hands on his holster, his senses heightened. He even stepped before Rhaenyra, slightly, to shield her from any potential danger. Gwayne was nervous, too, but Rhaenyra didn’t pay any attention to the rising tension, continuing to smile her beaming smile.“So,” Bennard asked Rory. “Is everything as agreed?”“Yes, all is done how you asked,” Rory replied. “Should we…”“Now?” Luthor asked, and it surprised Daemon. Some vague sense of unease stirred in his mind, but before he could figure out what it was, Bennard nodded to Luthor. Luthor—his friend, his companion in whom Daemon had absolute trust—pulled out a revolver and put it to the shocked Gwayne’s head.“Sorry, mate. Nothing personal, but we all pay for the sins of our fathers, yeah?” Luthor said without regret in his voice and then pulled the trigger. Gwayne’s lifeless body collapsed to the ground. None of the men even moved; no one was surprised… as if that’s all they’ve been waiting for… He pulled out his revolver and pointed it at Luthor, but Luthor just smiled. “It’s not loaded, Dae. But hers is.”Daemon turned around and saw Rhaenyra’s smile grow brighter as her hand held the revolver pointed at him…