Regalus' journey to Winterfell proved remarkably smooth.
The current Lord of the North, Elric, together with his father Alaric, prepared a grand and splendid ceremony to honor the Emperor's arrival.
Yet in the eyes of the former Lord, there still lingered a faint, almost imperceptible trace of resentment.
But Regalus was nothing like the Empress in temper—gentle and accommodating he was not.
All across Westeros, it was now well known that two minor kingdoms, having provoked his wrath in the Hall of Conquest, had already been condemned to annihilation.
House Stark, Wardens of the North, had no wish to share their fate, to see their title stripped away. So they spared no effort, doing everything within their power to lavish the Emperor with hospitality, letting him feel the blazing fervor of the northern people.
Regalus, for his part, was not ungrateful.
To return their courtesy, he asked to visit the tomb of Alaric's elder brother.
Standing before the stone, reflecting on the tragic death of the former lord, the Emperor sighed, his voice weighted with remorse.
"Such a heavy price was truly the result of our thoughtless mistake. I wish I could express my regret to you in person."
Alaric hurriedly waved his hands, replying earnestly:
"Walton's passing was no fault of yours, Majesty. He pressed too far into the wolfswood and lost his caution for but a moment—that was his undoing."
Regalus was pleased with Alaric and with House Stark's readiness to bend with the times. He immediately decreed a remission of one-tenth of the North's taxes for the year.
Alaric wept openly in gratitude.
Whether his tears were heartfelt or feigned, Aegon did not much care. For one who stood above the world, like a god in the flesh, it was enough that the outcome suited him.
...
After a short respite with the Queen, Regalus took her hand and together they rode out to survey the vast frozen wilderness of Brandon's Gift.
This land south of the Wall had once been granted by Brandon the Builder to the Night's Watch, meant to sustain their order.
"This land is far from enough," the Queen confided. "The soil is barren and rocky, the hills desolate. The Watch is not only impoverished, but every winter even their food runs short. Too often they are left on the edge of famine."
She then set forth a daring proposal—the New Gift.
That a new expanse of land, lying south of Brandon's Gift, be carved out and granted to the Night's Watch.
Alaric, however, showed little eagerness.
Though his bond with the Watch was deep and strong, he knew well the lords who held that land would never gladly surrender it to their liege lord.
"Lord Stark, I have the utmost faith in you," the Queen told him with a smile. "You will find the words to persuade them."
In the end, Alaric Stark bent to her will, swayed by her charm, and gave his reluctant consent.
Thus, the Gift was doubled in size.
...
In the last days of their stay in the North, strange tidings reached Winterfell.
A shocking report was delivered to the ducal hall—fishermen along the eastern coast swore they had seen White Walkers prowling the shore.
"Fishermen from White Harbor are always prattling about mermaids too—such nonsense is hardly worth believing," Alaric scoffed with open disdain.
But Regalus found the report far from laughable.
Without hesitation, he mounted the mighty Ghidorah and sped toward the eastern coast, determined to see the truth for himself.
Queen Alysanne followed close behind on Silverwing, recounting along the way what the wildlings had told her: in the Land of Always Winter, White Walkers had become a plague, yet the Night's Watch refused to heed their warnings.
Hearing this, Aegon's conviction hardened. The White Walkers had indeed emerged from beyond the Wall.
"This must be the gods' design," Aegon reasoned. "In the creed of the Many-Faced God, the Cold God, the Old Gods, and the Lion of Night may well be nothing more than different guises of the same power. Since the Many-Faced God has already struck at House Targaryen, it stands to reason the other faces of divinity would soon act as well."
When the Emperor and Empress reached the eastern coast, they flew north along the shoreline, scouring the land. Sure enough, they spotted a pack of several dozen wights wandering restlessly, pacing back and forth as though scouting for a path across the Wall by sea.
Aegon gave the order at once. Ghidorah dove like thunder from the clouds, its colossal claws seizing one wight alive as a specimen. Then, with a single breath of roaring flame, the dragon incinerated the rest, leaving only drifting ash.
Regalus did not risk pressing deeper into the Land of Always Winter. Instead, he commanded Ghidorah to carry the captured wight swiftly back to Winterfell.
When the fabled White Walkers appeared once more before mortal eyes, the entire North was thrown into shock.
Every child of the North had grown up on their grandmother's fearful tales of White Walkers. Now those same monsters, once thought no more than stories, stood revealed in grim reality.
Regalus himself described in detail how the capture had taken place.
Alaric no longer dared to dismiss it. He immediately summoned every lord and bannerman of the North to Winterfell to deliberate on a response.
Aegon chose not to continue the tour with the Queen.
He remained instead in the North, personally convening a council of war against the White Walkers, calming the lords who had been thrown into panic.
He laid out the creatures' weaknesses and solemnly swore he would return to Dragonstone to command the forging of dragonglass arrowheads and other weapons, vowing his full strength to help the North withstand this sudden calamity.
One by one, the nobles of the North bent the knee, offering thanks for the Emperor's protection.
Afterward, Regalus and Queen Alysanne once again mounted Ghidorah and Silverwing, flying south for King's Landing.
The royal entourage began its long journey home, first struggling overland back to White Harbor, then setting sail from there.
This northern tour had uncovered a danger none had expected.
The White Walkers had returned centuries earlier than the old lore foretold. The warning of the priest of the Many-Faced God had been true.
Winter was already upon them.
And after winter? Very likely, the long and endless night.
Upon their return to King's Landing...
Regalus immediately ordered large-scale excavation of the dragonglass mines on Dragonstone and the forging of every manner of weapon to resist the White Walkers.
Hand of the King Barth could not help but ask:
"With the White Walkers now threatening the North, should the conquest of the Disputed Lands be suspended?"
Regalus answered without hesitation. There was no need to halt. With the power of House Targaryen, neither foe was worth fretting over.
Indeed, he still had no intention of taking the field himself.
To him, both the Free Cities and the White Walkers beyond the Wall were nothing more than small trials before the true Long Night. If Westeros could not even withstand these, then mankind's future was too fragile to be worth preserving.
...
Upon returning to King's Landing, Queen Alysanne convened a Small Council.
Once Barth, Grand Maester Bennifer, and the other royal advisers had taken their seats, the Queen began to speak, recounting the significance of her journey to the Wall.
She lingered especially on the day she had spent in Mole's Town, among the prostitutes.
"There I met a girl," the Queen's voice was soft but heavy with weight, "no older than I am as I sit before you now.
She was fair of face, and I imagine in years past she must have been even more beautiful.
Her father was a smith. At just fourteen, he betrothed her to his apprentice. She was still a maiden then, deeply in love with the boy, dreaming of the life they would share.
At last, the day of their marriage came. The two stood together, joyous, solemnly speaking their vows.
And then the Lord arrived with soldiers, unashamedly claiming his vile 'first night.' He dragged the girl into his tower, and from dusk till dawn he had his way with her before casting her back to her husband.
From that day she had lost not only her maidenhood, but the apprentice's love forever.
Though he burned with rage, he dared not raise a hand against his lord—such defiance meant certain death. Instead, he turned his fury upon his wife.
When he discovered she carried the Lord's child, he beat her savagely until she miscarried.
From then on he called her only one name—'whore.'
For years the girl endured torment and humiliation in silence. At last, broken in spirit, she thought, 'If I am to be cursed daily as a whore, I may as well become one and at least earn my bread.'
And so that poor child dragged out her days in Mole's Town, her life destroyed beyond repair...
And yet, across the villages of our kingdom, countless young maidens wait to be wed. At any time, their lords may exercise that same cruel right upon them."
The Queen's voice hardened.
"This is a tale of anguish—but it is not the only one!
In White Harbor, in Mole's Town, in Barrowton—I have heard many women speak of their shame on their first night.
Until now, my lords, I had never realized how grave this evil truly was.
Yes, I have always known of the ancient custom. Even on Dragonstone, our own House Targaryen has lain with the wives of fishermen or servants, and children have been born of it..."
"They call such children 'dragonseed,'" Aegon interjected, his face tightening with distaste. "These things are no great honor, but they exist—and likely in greater number than any care to admit.
Still, those children have often received certain favor. Take Orys Baratheon, for instance. He was our grandsire's half-brother by blood. Whether he was born of the first night, I cannot say for certain. But all know Lord Aerion was his father.
And afterward, the lady received a most generous gift..."
"A gift?" the Queen cut in sharply, her voice rising, heavy with scorn. "You call that honor? There is no honor in it at all!
I know this foul practice was common centuries ago. But never did I dream it lived on to this day.
Perhaps I refused to face such cruelty. Yet the women of Mole's Town forced me to open my eyes with their suffering.
The right of the first night!
Your Grace, my lords—the time has come to end it.
I beg you."