"The north hasn't seen a dragon in centuries. They turned to ice during the first true winter after the conquest."
"Foolish child, the last dragon of the north walks among us."
game of thrones
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— THE early morning in Silverpeak was bathed in a glistening layer of dew, with the sun's feeble attempts to penetrate the shroud of clouds veiling the mountain peaks. In the shadowed recesses of the stronghold, the routines of men and women began to play out against the backdrop of stone streets. The scent of smoke, curling from the chimneys of blacksmiths and various workshops, mingled with the chill morning air, filling it with the promise of another day's toil. The stirring songs of waking birds in the surrounding pine forest echoed through the valley, nature's morning serenade.
Within the fortress's protective walls, a symphony of servants commenced their daily chores. Among them was the spirited Lady Elira Valnor, the youngest daughter of Lord Arion Valnor. At seventeen, she possessed a strong-willed nature that often led her to favor the exhilaration of horseback riding and archery over the contemplation of matrimony. It was a subject her father had attempted to broach since she came of age, yet Lord Valnor harbored no desire to impose upon her the constraints that his own father had enforced on his older sister. He believed in granting his children the freedom to choose their paths, although recent reflections stirred a tinge of regret within him.
Elira's independence was not unique among her siblings. Of Lord Valnor's four children, only the twins, Isolde and Gareth, had exchanged vows of marriage. Isolde had wed a Tully when she was just sixteen, embarking on a journey to the Riverlands. Her twin, Gareth, had taken Mia Poole as his bride, and her transition into Silverpeak had been a relatively short one. It was the eldest and youngest of Lord Valnor's offspring who proved to be the most obstinate when it came to marital unions.
Caelan, Lord Valnor's firstborn, had embraced his responsibilities with unwavering dedication since his youth. He understood that his life's course was inexorably tied to Silverpeak. One day, he would ascend to the position of Lord over their house, a destiny he had accepted wholeheartedly.
In the quiet sanctuary of his study, Lord Arion Valnor sat in contemplation. The tall windows that lined the room were fortified with heavy wooden shutters, guarding against the intrusion of the cool mountain air and preserving the warmth of the crackling fire that flickered in the hearth. Before him, a grand desk dominated the space, its polished surface adorned with a meticulously detailed map of the North. Silver threads of molten metal traced the intricate roads and pathways that linked the region's formidable strongholds. As Lord Arion's eyes fixated on the map, his thoughts weighed heavily upon him.
The burden of concern for the future of House Valnor bore down upon him. Though he held unwavering faith in his son Caelan's ability to lead, the young lord, at twenty-nine years of age, had yet to provide an heir to perpetuate the Valnor line. There was no wife to bear his children, no lady to stand by his side and assume the mantle of House Valnor. In his youth, Caelan had displayed a streak of rebellion, a trait that Lord Arion had swiftly curbed. Yet, at times, he couldn't help but wonder if his son had left a legacy of his own, perhaps fathering children with a woman who were named Snow amid the rugged peaks of the Northern mountains. If there were such children, what would stop just one of them from claiming their own place within their house? House Valnor was one of tradition, and to have a bastard someday have a claim to Silverpeak was unnerving.
