A solitary moon had waxed and waned since the passing of Theon Stark, the Great Wolf. The deep mourning that had gripped the North still lingered in the air of Winterfell, a quiet sorrow woven into the daily rhythms of the castle. King Artor, Theon's son, now sat fully on the throne, guided by the immense legacy his father had left behind.
Then, one cold, clear night, a new life entered the world. Within the ancient walls of Winterfell, Rickon Stark's wife, Gilliane Stark, went into labor.
Inside the birthing chambers, as the direwolves' howling reached a crescendo, Gilliane gave a final push. And then, a cry, strong and clear, filled the room.
"It's a boy!" the midwife announced, her voice trembling with exhaustion and awe.
The wailing of the direwolves outside seemed to temper, shifting into a low, rumbling chorus, almost as if in acknowledgement. When the news of the wolves' behavior spread through the castle, and then beyond, everyone thought it was a good omen, a sign that the old gods themselves were acknowledging the birth, perhaps even that the spirit of the Great Wolf watched over his new descendant.
The new babe was named Cregan Stark, and he bore the undeniable marks of his lineage: brown hair like the rich earth of the North, and grey eyes as deep and sharp as a winter sky. He was a true son of Winterfell, born into a North forged by his great-grandfather, a North that would one day look to him for its future. The era of Theon Stark had passed, but a new one, heralded by the ancient calls of the direwolves, had just begun.
The royal children in both King's Landing and Driftmark had seen significant growth, solidifying the claims and lines of succession that would, in time, become the very fault lines of the realm.
In the Red Keep, Queen Alicent Hightower had busied herself with fulfilling her royal duty, producing a robust set of children who were the very image of their father, King Viserys. First came the ethereal Helaena Targaryen, a gentle and often wistful girl. Then, the formidable Aemond Targaryen, known for his fierce demeanor even in youth, and lastly, the youngest prince, Daeron Targaryen, who would later prove himself courageous and dutiful. All three bore the characteristic silver-gold hair and violet eyes of the Targaryens, solidifying their legitimacy in the eyes of the court.
Meanwhile, across the Blackwater and across the years, Crown Princess Rhaenyra had also seen her family grow. After the birth of Visenya, who was now a spirited young girl, Rhaenyra had given birth to three more sons, completing her immediate nursery. First, the boisterous Jacaerys Velaryon, followed by the quieter Lucerys Velaryon, and finally, the jovial Joffrey Velaryon. However, a consistent and increasingly whispered curiosity surrounded them. While all three possessed the distinct violet eyes of House Targaryen, a striking feature, they all inherited black hair, a stark contrast to the silver locks of their royal lineage, and a source of quiet, yet persistent, gossip throughout the court.
Further afield, on Driftmark, the marriage of Laena Velaryon to the unpredictable Prince Daemon Targaryen had also borne fruit. Laena, the formidable dragonrider, had given birth to twin daughters, the spirited Baela Targaryen and her equally adventurous sister, Rhaena Targaryen. Both bore the classic Targaryen silver-gold hair and violet eyes, clear evidence of their dragonrider parentage.
The chessboard of succession was slowly filling with pieces, each child, each birth, adding another layer of complexity and potential conflict to the simmering tensions within the realm. The silence between Rhaenyra and Alicent remained a heavy cloak, stretched over the growing numbers of their respective children, each a living testament to their competing claims and the future of the Iron Throne.
The fragile peace that often masked the deeper tensions of the court was brutally shattered by a profound sorrow. In 120 AC, a great tragedy struck Driftmark: Laena Velaryon, the spirited dragonrider and wife of Prince Daemon, died in childbirth. The news sent a ripple of grief through the royal houses, and as custom demanded, every royal member were present at Driftmark for her funeral, a solemn gathering on the wind-swept shores of the island.
The funeral itself was a somber affair. Amidst the mournful cries of the gulls and the crashing waves, Vaemond Velaryon, Lord Corlys's brother, took the podium to deliver the eulogy. His voice, though ostensibly praising Laena, held a barely veiled venom, a deliberate emphasis on the sanctity of blood ties and pure Valyrian lineage. His words, sharp and pointed, were clearly intended to sting Rhaenyra, indirectly highlighting the persistent whispers that none of her black-haired sons bore the distinctive silver-gold coloring of the Velaryons, or indeed, the Targaryens. The barb hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the fragile legitimacy of Rhaenyra's heirs.
The day of sorrow gave way to a night of quiet tension, which then erupted into a night of brutal consequence. Shortly after the funeral rites, an incident occurred that would forever alter the course of Targaryen history. Aemond Targaryen, young but already possessing a fiercely ambitious spirit, seized the opportunity. He found Vhagar, the largest living dragon in all Westeros, a beast of immense power and ancient fury, whose previous rider, Laena Velaryon, had just perished. Aemond, with audacious courage, climbed upon her back and claimed her as his own, flying her through the night sky.
His triumph, however, was short-lived. The children, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Baela, and Rhaena, furious at Aemond for claiming their mother's dragon so soon after her death, confronted him. A heated argument quickly escalated into a violent struggle. Aemond, emboldened by Vhagar's might and ever prone to cruel taunts, lashed out with the most hurtful accusation. He began to mock Jacaerys and Lucerys, openly calling them bastards, echoing the widespread rumor that they were not Laenor Velaryon's true sons.
The insult, raw and devastating, struck deep. In the ensuing struggle, amidst the chaos and desperate rage, Lucerys, the quieter of Rhaenyra's sons, drew a dagger. In a moment of raw, unthinking fury, he lashed out, the blade finding its mark. Aemond's face was slashed, and a scream tore from his throat. The boy fell, clutching his face, blood welling between his fingers. He had lost an eye.
The aftermath was a horrifying spectacle. Aemond, forever marked by the incident, later replaced his lost eye with a sapphire, a cold, blue gem that gleamed unsettlingly in his socket. He often wore an eyepatch to cover the wound, a constant, visible reminder of the night's brutality. Famously, and chillingly, he later declared that he considered losing an eye a "fair exchange" for gaining Vhagar, the most powerful dragon in the world.
The lines of animosity between the 'Greens' (Alicent's faction) and the 'Blacks' (Rhaenyra's faction) were now drawn in blood, ensuring that the conflict, long simmering beneath the surface, would inevitably boil over. The future of Westeros had just taken a very dark turn.
The grim shadows of the funeral on Driftmark, and the ensuing bloody incident with Aemond and Lucerys, hung heavy over Rhaenyra. The volatile atmosphere in King's Landing, exacerbated by Otto Hightower's relentless whispers, made the Red Keep feel less like a home and more like a gilded cage. But amidst the suffocating tension, a thought began to solidify in her mind, a beacon of hope she had held onto for years.
In 122 AC. Rhenyra Targaryen thinks now that her eldest child, Visenya, a bright and curious girl with her mother's striking Targaryen features, was now of an age to begin her education. Rhaenyra remembered her own transformative years in Winterhold, the freedom of thought, the practical skills, and the deep, honest friendship she had found with Mordred. It was exactly what Visenya needed, a world away from the viper's nest her own court had become.
Rhaenyra immediately began preparations for her daughter's journey. This was not a mere dispatch, but a carefully considered investment in her heir's future, a continuation of the bond she shared with the North. She penned a formal, yet heartfelt, letter to King Artor Stark, his father having passed away just two years prior, requesting his permission for Visenya to enter Winterhold College. She emphasized the legacy her own education had left, and her desire for her daughter to be similarly prepared for the unique challenges of ruling.
The reply from Winterfell arrived weeks later, sealed with the direwolf sigil. King Artor Stark had granted his permission. His letter was gracious, expressing the North's continued commitment to the alliance forged through education and acknowledging the strength of the bond between their houses.
With permission secured, Rhaenyra oversaw every detail of Visenya's departure. She ensured her daughter would be well-provided for, with a tutor for the journey and a carefully selected retinue. For companions, she chose two young ladies of good standing and sharp wits, Vaella Celtigar and Lysa Hayford, to accompany Visenya. Both were slightly older than the princess, chosen for their discretion and loyalty.
And so, with a mixture of maternal longing and fierce determination, Rhaenyra watched as her eldest child, Princess Visenya, set off on the long journey North, towards Asgard and the education that had once armed her mother against a hostile world. The Princess hoped that the wisdom of Winterhold would shield Visenya from the bitter resentments and dangerous games that now consumed the South.