Aegon Targaryen had thought he had known the feeling before, he had thought he understood how it was. But he was wrong. He didn't know. He didn't understand. Until he saw her. Until he knew of her. Until he met her.
But then again, he knew what she...
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WHEN AEGON TARGARYEN DREAMED, HIS EYES GLISTENED AGAINST THE FALLING SNOW. All he dreamt of had been strange, so different than the dreams of others. Aegon Targaryen had never seen snow before; he did not even know what it looked like. In his first dream of snow, he had been in complete awe.
Frost fell upon the edge of his palm in an intricate pattern, fluttering in a shape that resembled the sun. Such a thing had been beautiful, so delicate upon his touch. He had been curious, so intrigued as it kept gathering upon his flesh. All his curiosity had been the essence of humanity in his dragon blood. The young lord of Dragonstone had read all he could about snow and ice on the pages of his texts and scrolls.
