~ Three Years Later, White Harbor ~
~ Narrator's POV ~
White Harbor, the North's thriving port city, gleamed under the pale morning sun. Its whitewashed streets and slate-roofed buildings seemed to glow, and the bustling docks teemed with merchants, sailors, and soldiers preparing for departure. Among the activity stood Barthogan Stark, Daenora Targaryen, and their extraordinary son, Draegon Targaryen Stark, ready to embark on a voyage that would shape their future.
Draegon, now ten name days old, had grown into a striking figure. His coal-black and Valyrian silver hair cascaded to his shoulders, and his pale amethyst eyes, flecked with gray, glimmered like shards of an otherworldly gemstone. Though only a boy by age, his poise and demeanor spoke of a soul far older, sharpened by battles and victories.
Daenora, ethereal in her silver-gold hair and lilac eyes, wore a gown of dark crimson and gray, embroidered with the dragons of House Targaryen entwined with the direwolves of House Stark. She exuded a regal, quiet strength, a woman of Valyria who had claimed her place in the North and won its respect.
Barthogan Stark, steadfast as the walls of Winterfell, stood beside them. His gray eyes carried both pride and caution as he regarded his son. "Remember this, Draegon," he said, his voice steady. "You've shown the world what a Stark and a dragon can accomplish together. Never forget the weight of what you carry."
Draegon inclined his head, the faintest of smiles on his lips. The memory of the war against the Westerlands and Riverlands still burned fresh.
~
It had been the greatest challenge of Draegon's young life. Though only nine name days at the time, he had stood beside his father, commanding Northern armies as they faced the combined might of Houses Lannister and Tully. The North's victory was nothing short of extraordinary, given that neither Draegon nor Daenora had called upon their dragons in battle.
Draegon had refused to rely on dragonfire, insisting that the North's strength would win the day. With his uncanny strategic mind and the supernatural abilities granted by his vampiric and lycan forms, he had turned the tide. In one crucial battle, he had infiltrated the enemy camp alone under the cover of darkness, his daggers and claws silencing key commanders before the armies even clashed.
When the Northern banners rose triumphant over the Trident, the North had proven its strength under Draegon's guidance. He had earned the respect of both allies and foes—and the fear of the realms.
~
As their ship sailed across the Narrow Sea, Draegon stood at the prow, gazing at the horizon. Barthogan and Daenora watched him from the deck, their expressions unreadable.
"He's already accomplished more than most men twice his age," Barthogan said quietly. "But sometimes I wonder… will he ever get to just be a boy?"
Daenora's lilac eyes softened. "He's not just a boy. He's Draegon. And while the world will demand much of him, he will always have us."
Barthogan nodded, though his gaze remained troubled.
When Valyria finally came into view, Draegon felt a stirring deep within him. The obsidian towers and volcanic spires seemed alive with ancient magic, and the skies above were filled with the silhouettes of dragons.
"This is Valyria," Daenora said, standing beside him. "The heart of our bloodline. The fire that shaped us."
Draegon stared at the city, his amethyst-gray eyes unblinking. "It feels… alive."
"It is," Daenora replied, a faint smile playing on her lips.
~ Valyrian Freehold, Capital Valyria ~
The Targaryen estate, nestled within the fiery heart of Valyria, welcomed them with grandeur befitting dragonlords. Aenar and Rhaela Targaryen, Daenora's brother and sister-in-law, greeted them at the gates.
Aenar, commanding and regal, with silver hair and lilac eyes, embraced his sister warmly. "Daenora, you've returned at last. And you've brought the boy who has all Valyria whispering."
Draegon met his uncle's gaze without flinching, his voice steady. "It is an honor to stand before you, Uncle."
"And an honor to meet the Dragonwolf," Aenar replied with approval.
Rhaela approached with their infant daughter cradled in her arms. The newborn, swaddled in crimson cloth, opened her lilac eyes and fixed them on Draegon with an unsettling intensity.
"This is Daenys," Rhaela said softly. "She dreams of things even we cannot understand."
Draegon crouched beside the infant, his pale amethyst-gray eyes meeting hers. For a moment, the world seemed to fall away.
"She's powerful," Draegon murmured. "She sees… more than most."
Daenys let out a soft coo, as though confirming his words.
"That's why we call her Daenys the Dreamer," Rhaela said with a gentle smile. "And you, Draegon, are part of those dreams. You are bound to this family's destiny."
That evening, as the stars burned bright over Valyria, Draegon stood on a balcony overlooking the city. The hum of magic in the air, the flicker of dragonfire in the distance—it all stirred something deep within him.
Daenora joined him, her lilac eyes reflecting the glow of the fiery spires. "This is where it begins, my son," she said softly. "You've already left your mark on the North, but Valyria will test you in ways you cannot yet imagine."
Draegon turned to his mother, his young face filled with a determination that belied his years. "Whatever comes, I will rise to meet it. The North taught me strength, and Valyria will teach me fire."
Daenora smiled, pride shining in her eyes. "You are the bridge between two worlds, my son. And the world will tremble when they see what the Dragonwolf becomes."
~