01| Daemon Targaryen

It was cold in Winterfell. A blizzard was raging behind the thick stone walls, the snow mixed in the air, forming a white haze. The fog was blurring his eyes as he sighed, leaning his shoulder against the window frame. He could see a white streak from the winter forest to a huge area of emptiness. The north was a barren wasteland full of wild animals that knew nothing about the court. There were no ordinary values here, there were people who had been taught to survive, and that was something he could admire.

Daemon was here on the orders of Viserys, his brother and king. To recruit more people to help in the war on the Steps, to help end this conflict quickly before the crown gets even more into debt. He thought it was just another useless venture, why was he here? He looked like a messenger, not the prince and soldier he was. He had to fight on the Steps. Instead of acting like some kind of page boy here. The blizzard outside the walls was getting worse by the second, obscuring visibility. He had only been here for one day, and now his main task was to find allies. After leaving the small house, the man's gaze fell on his red dragon. The bloody snake, who was lying among the white snow, whose figure stood out against it, did not feel any delight from the whole journey. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was erratic, and a grunt occasionally escaped from his mouth, which was enough for the Caraxes to express its displeasure.