A Hungry Dragon

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Chapter 6 (Return to Winterfell), Chapter 7 (There's no Honor in War), Chapter 8 (A Song for The Past), Chapter 9 (The Woman in White), and Chapter 10 (The Princess and The Bastard) are already available for Patrons.

Two Years After Leaving Winterfell - 290 AC

A gentle breeze blew over the dark forest. A deer was grazing on the grass when a noise echoed in the forest. The deer looked up, his dark eyes staring at the forest around him, his ears perked up for any sound. The grass a few feet away moved suddenly, as the deer looked at the grass, waiting for something to show itself, but he didn't see something else.

An arrow pierced through its eye; the deer didn't even scream in pain; it simply fell to the ground. The arrow's tip had pierced through the flesh and bone, sticking out through the back of the head.

A gentle fall was heard from a nearby tree. A boy strode towards the deer, holding a bow in his hands, two arrow quivers strapped to his back with leather straps, and twenty arrows with red tails made of animal hair. The other arrow quiver carried ten arrows smelling strongly of alcohol.

The boy stared at the creature before kneeling down; his fingers grasped the wooden arrow, and with a bit of force, the arrow slid out of the eye socket, and a burst of blood followed it. The boy sighed as he used a napkin to clean the blood from the arrow, his eyes blank and void of visible emotions from the sight of the dead deer.

Anden always told him to keep all his weapons clean. But as he used the napkin to clean the pointy end, he heard footsteps. His ears almost perked up as he leaped to his feet. He looked in the direction of the noise. There, between two trees, a narrow path, and the way it was moving, the boy knew what it was.

"A Black Bear," he murmured under his breath as he took aim with his bow. The bear lunged forward, running towards the boy. He quickly gained distance between himself and the dead deer. His hands moved swiftly, grabbing the one arrow he needed from the second quiver. Its tip glittered red from the pure alcohol that cloaked it like a second skin.

He quickly threw sulfur powder on the arrow tip, causing the alcohol to burst into flames.

"Back off!" the boy shouted at the bear as he pointed the burning tip toward the bear, who stopped in his tracks. The flickering flames burned the bear's hair, causing it to scream in pain before backing away from the boy.

The bear bore its large teeth towards the boy but backed away when the burning tip got too close again. The bear backed away further when it noticed the dead deer lying nearby, turning its attention towards the other prey.

Jon quickly aimed his bow, using the burning arrow, he drew back the string and let the arrow loose. The burning arrow struck the bear's neck, its hair burning in flames.

The bear screamed in pain, rolling around the snow; when he stopped, another arrow now on his throat; the blood turned the snow red, but the bear let out whimpers of pain, thrashing on the snowy ground, but that too stopped when an arrow sank into its eye.

The boy didn't walk up to its new prey; he studied the bear, waiting for him to move again. His shoulders winced every time he remembered when he ran after a shadow cat that he hit with an arrow, thinking it was dead, only for the cat to wound his shoulder with her claws, and it would have done worse if it wasn't for Lord Anden who brought his great axe down, decapitating its head.

The boy counted to thirty seconds. The bear had not moved again, and he knew it was safe now as he strode towards the dead bear. He moved its head with his feet, but its head limped the other side, not moving.

"Good job, Jon."

Jon's eyes flickered at his Great-Grandfather for a moment. The man bear strode towards him, holding his axe with his right hand.

"I didn't need your help this time." Jon couldn't help but boast with a smile. The giant man stroked his beard as he kneeled down, grabbing the bear by its sides and lifting it up, carrying it over his shoulder.

Two other hunters, including Derek, walked out of the woods, many wearing big grins, looking down at Jon with pride. The boy enjoyed the way they looked at him, and it seemed that was evident on his face.

"Don't look so smug, little man. You still haven't topped me, the best of Westeros." Derek said humorly as he patted Jon on the back. Before kneeling down and looking at the deer, he pulled out his kukri knife, digging it into the sides of the deer's stomach.

The boy laughed at his joke as the hunters used a sled to carry the deer away. "If you are the best Westero has to offer, then we are all doomed and might as well bend the knee to the next merchant that crosses the Narrow Sea from Essos." Jon japed along as they walked through the dark forest, its trees reaching for the sky, its branches spreading everywhere, and every little branch and leaf casting a shadow below.

"Do not understimate me, little man. Not even a dragon can scare me. Balerion, the Black Dread, pfff. That cute little kitten will stand no chance against my mighty blade," Derek continued, with an amusing smile as he talked with a funny voice.

Jon chuckled along; Derek had started boasting more about himself and making more jokes to entertain people since that day nine months ago, yet, sometimes, it still felt like only a week had passed.

One week after her death, Jon got angry with Derek when he started making jokes in the Great Hall as if nothing had even happened; he shouted at the man, calling him.

'You never loved her; look at you. She is dead, and you are joking. She spoke good of you, and this is how you repay her. Shame on You?!!"

He had run to his chamber to cry alone. When the door opened, he expected Derek, but instead, his great-grandfather came in, wanting to know why he had yelled at Derek in the hall.

'She's dead, and he jokes about stuff, and laughs. Did she mean nothing to him? Becau—Because he mattered to her. I know HE DID." Jon cried out with tears running down his face, feeling a hand slowly squeezing his heart with an iron grip.

Jon felt the man's big hand on his shoulder as he kneeled to his level, but still taller than him. "Derek is grieving."

"But—But why is he joking?" Jon muttered weakly in a choked voice, not understanding.

"Do not mistake his lack of tears for a lack of grieving. Mourn how you wish, and let him mourn in his own way."

Jon realized his mistake, and the next day, he apologized to Derek, but the man told him that he had nothing to apologize for.

Jon quickly stifled the sadness that started growing in his chest. It was in the past, and he needed to move on.

Jon looked back on the past nine months. He had made sure to train as much as he could; the training and studying were a good way to forget what happened, less time to think of regrets, and even when he had time, he was too exhausted to do much else but fall into slumber. Jon made sure to train in everything his grandmother and Lord Anden told him to without much hesitation, if at all.

His grandmother often brought up what happened and tried to tell him that it wasn't his fault, but Jon always avoided such discussions. Again, it was in the past, and he needed to move on. The past could never change, and as soon as he learned that, the better.

His strange dreams with Rhae continued. With every full moon, he would meet her again and again; no full moon passed without them meeting one another. At this point, Jon was used to this happening and would just go along with it without questioning why it was happening, but their friendship wasn't the same anymore.

Jon still remembers asking Rhae if his cousin was Princess Arianne Martell of Dorne, but Rhae refused to answer. She had given him no answer, but the way her eyes went wide was more than enough of an answer; Jon knew this Rhae must be Prince Oberyn's bastard daughter, and he tried to have a conversation with Rhae, saying there was no need for her to keep it a secret, and that there was no reason for her to be so, discreet around him.

' "Why are you trying to keep it a secret, Rhae? You are a bastard, I'm a bastard, the only difference is that you are from Dorne...Why...Why are you looking at me like that?" Jon asked, sounding hurt, only now he noticed the way she was glaring at him, fuming like she wanted to kill him and the way she was holding the knife in her hands. This was the first time she had grabbed the knife after the first meeting.

"I'm so foolish, Uncle Ob—You Northerners, you are an enemy of mine. You might be a child now, but you will be an enemy in the future." Rhae declared. The way she held the knife, Jon was ready to protect himself if she tried anything, but her words felt like a stab in the heart for him.

"Enemy?!" Jon exclaimed incredulously, his face going red. He did not understand why she was saying that. How am I your enemy? I have done nothing to you?" Jon tried to reason, taking a step forward.

"You helped the..." She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes red, but the rage in her eyes made him flinch, almost like he just got punched in the face. Rhae opened and closed her mouth several times before pressing her lips into a thin line.

"...I don't want to talk with you again. You have learned too much. We are not friends anymore." Rhae said with a voice that made it clear that it was final. She wouldn't change her mind. '

Jon had tried to talk with her and change her mind, but Rhae never spoke to him again after that night. Eventually, he stopped trying to talk with her, but the meeting between the two still happened no matter what.

They met every full moon, but there was no excitement anymore; there was no friendship left. Rhae ignored him like the plague. She would sit in the corner of the room and just stay in silence until the morning came. If she didn't want to talk, he wouldn't force her; if she thought of him as an enemy, he would let her think that way.

The last Full Moon was a week ago, and despite five months passing since the last time they exchanged words, Rhae still refused to look at him.

All the teasing they used to have was gone, but Jon was sure he had heard her murmur a name when she thought he wasn't paying attention to her. Jon always paid attention to everything.

That's how he learned that she was Princess Arianne's cousin.

Jon wondered if singing a song to her would convince her to change her mind. Perhaps a song could help. His grandmother always told him that his voice was beautiful, and so did many working ladies around the castle. Many of them teased him, saying he would capture many hearts when he grew up with that voice.

After one hour of walking through the forest, they arrived at Breakstone Hill. Jon expected to find his grandmother in her chamber, but when the gates opened, she was waiting for him, holding a scroll in her slender fingers. Jon noticed the Direwolf sigil on the wax seal of the scroll.

"Daughter?" Lord Anden looked at her with a questioning gaze as she handed him the scroll.

"This arrived an hour after you left." From her tone, Jon was sure she already knew what was written on that scroll. As the giant man removed the seal, he read it under his breath, handed it back to Lady Lyarra, and looked down at the boy.

"Your father wants you back home, Jon."

For the last two years, Jon had thought of this moment, the moment he would return back to Winterfell, back to the family he left behind.

Robb, his father, and Sansa were waiting for him. In his thoughts, Jon had always imagined the joy he would feel when he returned, but right now, it was no longer a thought; it was happening, and the joy was absent. He felt wary more than anything; he reminded himself that returning to Winterfell meant returning to the same place that gave him looks for being a Bastard, the same place where Lady Fish still resigned.

Jon used to fear Lady Fish, her mean face, and the words she would say; they always hurt worse than any slap. But right now, he doesn't feel his heartbeat increasing in fear at the thought of seeing her again. Instead, he remains indifferent; perhaps Derek was right when he said that he had changed a lot in the last nine months.

Despite how much he wanted to stay here a bit longer, he had known from the beginning that he would eventually return home, and Derek and his Great-Grandfather could not follow him.

"When are we leaving?" Jon finally asked, looking up until his neck turned stiff. He was now looking right at Lord Anden's rough eyes, trying to keep his emotions in check.

"Tomorrow, Jon. I want you to prepare your things and have everything ready." Upon hearing that command, Jon wasted no time and returned to his chamber.

It took three hours, but finally, everything that was his was all packed up; he was ready to leave, but as he pulled the leather rope around the bag's rim to close the hole, he looked around; the room he had slept in for the last two years—a place he was used to call home. Jon did not shed tears, but he felt his eyes burning, knowing upon waking up tomorrow, he wouldn't wake up in this chamber again.

Derek wouldn't be there to annoy him every time he trained, but as he thought of Derek, his mind went to Robb.

Does he miss me? Jon wondered. Two years passed, and he wondered how much he had changed and how much stronger he had gotten.

Would he even recognize Robb? Jon didn't know, but the thought of Robb seeing him and his sword fighting was almost enough to make him forget that he was leaving this place.

He thought of Sansa from his father's letters. His sister enjoyed needlework. Jon was sure she would appreciate it if he gifted her rare material for her to work on. He was sure Kassandra had some hidden somewhere.

Then he thought of Arya, the sister he had yet to meet. All his father spoke of her was that out of all of them, she was the most vocal one. She could not stop crying, and sometimes, she stopped crying only when Ned was nearby. She was like a wild animal whenever Catelyn tried to get to her sleep.

Jon's smile turned stiff like a rock at the thought of Lady Fish. Despite the last two years, he doubted her way of treating him and thinking of him had changed, but he was a child no longer. He was a hunter and a young warrior. If she thought her harsh glares could still scare him, she would realize she was just a fish playing wolf.

Tomorrow

"So this is it. We can finally have some peace and quiet," Derek japed as he watched Jon throw his bag on the wagon. They were in the castle's main courtyard, and a crowd of people had gathered to bid them goodbye, including Lord Anden himself, who stood in front of them.

Jon chuckled in amusement before turning to face Derek, who smiled kindly at him. "I will miss you too, Derek. I will always remember the first time I won against you." He said with a cheeky smile, pointing at the scar on his forearm from the first training day.

"And I will remember the time you ran away crying like a little baby," Derek added with the same smug smile that slowly turned into a sad one. Before Jon could say another word, the man kneeled to his level and hugged him tightly.

"This is not farewell, Jon. Remember that we will meet again." Derek said, pulling away. His right hand reached behind him, pulling out a Kukri knife and a hostler.

"This is for you, Jon. It's a throwing knife, but it's good for fighting, too. It's yours... My father gave this to me, so keep it safe." Jon didn't know what to say as he grabbed the sheathed dagger, his fingers curled around the handle, and pushed it up, revealing its fine blade and sharpness. The sun glittered on the surface, and a message was carved on the bottom.

'To the Boy with Iron Will.'

Jon looked back at Derek, who winked at him with a soft smile. "I will take care of it, Derek, and one day. I will give this to someone who deserves it."

"I expect nothing else from you, young man. Now, go and make us all proud." Derek said with a bright smile, messing up his hair before pulling away.

This time, it was Lord Anden's turn. Jon was still short enough that he didn't quite yet reach his waist, but he was slowly reaching that goal. The man looked down at him, his face harsh, without much emotion.

"Do you remember what I told you the first time we met about luck and the will to carve your own path?"

"Yes, Great Grandfather," Jon answered right away, remembering his words about being born Royal. It didn't mean that one was worthy of the title that came with it; it was only that he was luckier than the others.

"Good. I believe you are ready for this then." He pulled out a scroll from between his belt and pants and gave it to Jon.

"A Scroll?"

"Yes." Jon was about to open it when his giant hand grabbed his wrist. "Not now. Give it to Lord Stark. It's my gift to you for proving me that luck is not the only thing on your side."

This was the biggest compliment he received from his great grandfather, but that still paled in comparison when the man, for the first time, smiled at Jon; it wasn't just a faint smile, but a smile full of pride.

"You, my boy. Continue on the road you are walking, I believe you will do great things." At that moment, Jon had hugged the man for the first time, his arms around his legs, but he cared not, and he felt the man's big hand caressing his hair gently.

"Thank you, great Grandfather. For everything."

Winterfell

Ned read the letter's content for the third time; his heart swelled with joy as he repeated the words under his breath. Jon and his mother were riding back to Winterfell after two years, but it was not just him. Benjen was also riding to Winterfell with his wife and son.

Ned still could not believe that his brother found the courage to marry someone. After their mother forbade him from going to the Night's Watch as he wanted to. Benjen told him that he would spend the rest of his days being a captain of the guards in Winterfell and that he had no desire to become a lord until he met Lady Barbrey Dustin.

Ned wasn't sure what happened between the two of them, but they married a month after they first met when she was visiting Winterfell.

Ned was somewhat relieved. He knew Lady Dustin still hated his guts for not bringing her husband's bones back to her, but only Lyannas'.

And since he had already buried her husband's bones near The Tower of Joy, it was seen as sinful in Westeros to unbury someone in the same manner as Kinslaying. Ned knew she had every right to hate him. She could never bury her husband where she had wanted to because of what happened to Lyanna.

'You brought the bones of your precious Lyanna, but you never cared for Willam's bones and of your friends. Tell me, Lord Stark. Did you feed them to Lord Reed, he's your loyal dog after all.'

'Not bringing them back will always be one of my biggest regrets, my Lady.' Ned admitted shamefully, ignoring her comment about Howland.

'Bigger regret you say. I always thought your biggest regret was not marrying that Lady from Starfall. She was quite a beauty, such a shame she threw herself off that tower, no wonder you don't like talking about Lyanna—' 'Enough!!' Ned ordered, looking at the woman scornfully. He didn't even hear the chair falling behind him when he leaped into his feet.

Lady Dustic scoffed at him, not frightened that he raised his voice, before pulling out a coin from her purse. 'I was hoping to see Jon Snow, Lord Stark; he has your blood after all, but with his absence. Send my regards to him when he returns to Winterfell.' Lady Dustin said with a smile, placing the golden coin on the desk. The dragon's face on the coin looked back at Ned as she left the chamber.'

Ned didn't understand why she wanted to talk with Jon, but that didn't matter, as the door opened wide. Catelyn stepped inside, her hand stroking her growing belly; the sight brought a smile to his face. The joy on her face was something he loved seeing, but now, from the news he received, he knew she wouldn't be happy to hear what he had to say.

"You asked for me, Ned?" Catelyn asked, closing the door with a soft plop as she strode across the chamber.

"Yes. Maester Luwin was here an hour ago; he brought news from my mother." As expected, her smile disappeared, and her eyes went rigid.

"Is she alright?" His wife asked with a forced smile, her hand resting on the corner of the desk.

"Yes, she and Jon are alright, but she sent a raven to inform me that she will be here within two weeks. She said that she is bringing news from her father, too. I'm not sure what Lord Flint could want with me, but she said that it concerned Jon. I want the servants to prepare her and Jon's chamber. Can you do that, my Lady?" Ned asked, looking at his wife intently.

Ned heard her murmur something under her breath, but he didn't quite hear what she said.

"Speak louder, my Lady."

"...Why is he returning, my Lord. I thought Lord Flint had taken a liking to the boy." She asked, her eyes hard like stones.

Ned felt the headache coming back. He knew what she meant by 'he'. When Ned had mentioned that Lord Flint liked Jon, his wife had taken the news well. He knew she was secretly hoping that Jon would never show his face again in Winterfell.

"Jon is always welcomed here, my Lady, it's been two years and I sent a raven to my mother, telling her that I wanted her to return with Jon. He is my blood, and I want him to be raised with his siblings. I want to see how much he has grown. Jon belongs in Winterfell as much as any of our children." His wife flinched as if his words were a slap in the face to her; she looked horrified; her face had gone pale, paler than the snow outside.

"He is your blood, not mine." She spoke the words with venom through clenched teeth before her face turned neutral. "You know what he is, what his kind is capable of—" "Do not speak of Jon as if you know HIM." Ned rose to his feet, looming over her like a giant, his hard eyes staring down at her frightened ones. Ned regretted raising his voice; his mother had taught him long ago never to raise his voice, but sometimes, he lost himself.

"If you cared enough to spend time with him, you would know he is not and never will be a danger to our children. Jon has Stark blood in his hands, and us Starks are not greedy like the Blackfyres." Ned reminded her. His mouth felt numb from saying the same words so many times, but the words needed to be said; he hoped sooner or later, his wife would understand that Jon was innocent in all of this; if she wanted to scream at someone, why not at me, Ned thought with a pained expression.

Catelyn's face turned hard, almost staring at a rock with a face. "I will prepare their chambers, my Lord. Is there anything else I should know?"

When Ned shook his head, she left the chamber in haste, and once the door clicked shut, he was left alone with his thoughts.

'Brother, why? Why did you run off like that?' Ned asked himself, almost waiting for someone to answer the question. Not the first time he had asked this question; his big brother had always been a Hungry Wolf and quick to anger, as GreatJon called him, and Ned had seen that more than once.

But he had never thought that Brandon would think of riding all the way to King's Landing to confront Rhaegar.

If only Lyanna hadn't gone with Rhaegar. If only his big brother had not ridden to King's Landing. If only Ashara hadn't thrown herself from that tower, so many what-ifs.

Alone with his ghosts, Ned decided to go to the God's Wood, where he could be with his gods.

Sunspear

"Don't lower your shield, Rhae. Use it." She locked eyes with her uncle, who made circles around her, like a hunter looking for a weakness in her stance. She grasped the iron strap on the back of the small round shield, her feet dug deep into the sand, and he struck.

She moved her shield upwards and thrust her sword forward with her other hand. The shield blocked the spear of her uncle, but he sidestepped away from her blade. Rhae rushed forward, swinging her sword, only for him to dodge before getting into her space. She felt the sharp blade of his knife against her throat as he looked down on her. There was no disappointment in his eyes, but she knew she should have done better.

I can never avenge my family like this, she reminded herself, trying to suppress the anger inside her. Her uncle moved his blade away, turning his back to her, and in that moment she struck forward with her blade. Her uncle quickly swirled around, punching her arm away, and with a kick to her leg, she was on the ground, her mouth full of sand.

"Good, you remember your lesson. There's no honor in a fight, only who lives and dies." Her uncle said before helping her back to her feet; she breathed heavily, spitting out the sand from her mouth as she grabbed the water skin bottle strapped to her waist; she felt the cold liquid sliding down her throat, the sun mercilessly beating them since the morning started, she could feel the sweat on her armpits, and she knew she smelled like shit, as Obara would say.

"I understand, Uncle," Rhae said in a neutral voice as she closed her skin bottle and placed it back around her waist. A leather strap made sure it wouldn't fall.

"That's what I used to tell your uncle Doran, he might be the oldest, but he was never better than me at swinging a spear, but he still learned to attack from behind, but his words are the spears for him." She heard her uncle say airly as he mounted his horse, and she did the same.

Rhae couldn't imagine her uncle fighting with a spear; for as long as she could remember, he always walked with difficulties, and as years passed, he needed crutches to walk now. Obara even said that a maiden would help him remove his pants when he needed to go to the toilet, and the older he became, the more his sickness would grow.

Arianne always made sure to tell Rhae when her father got sicker than usual. Rhae wasn't sure if she did that out of concern for her father or because she couldn't wait to become the Princess of Dorne.

With a small kick, the horses rode forward, back to Sunspear. Rhae could already imagine sinking into her bath, washing away the smell that cloaked her like a second skin. Despite the long ride back, there wasn't much talking. Uncle Oberyn always found it difficult to look into her eyes.

Rhae remembered Ari telling her that her uncle still lived with regrets of what happened during Robert's Rebellion, and her eyes reminded him of Rhaegar's eyes.

My father, she mumbled under her breath, like a hot knife through her belly; she felt the anger growing inside her. Seven years had passed since the day everything changed. Her childhood was enveloped in darkness, memories she couldn't recall, but she remembered two things well: she remembered her mother crying for her father to come back, and she remembered her brother's cries and the noises their bodies made when the monster killed them without mercy.

The second thing she remembered was her father's singing voice. His eyes and voice were the only thing she remembered from him.

All because of the Stark dogs, The Lannisters, and the Stags, she mumbled under her breath, her anger growing like a raging fire.

Her mind went to the only person she knew beyond Dorne. Jon Snow. It was still a mystery to her why she was having these strange dreams with him. She had thought they were Dragon Dreams, but after reading more about Daenys The Dreamer. There were no records of Dragon Dreams allowing someone to talk with someone else who lived across the continent.

At first, after becoming friends with him, she was happy to have someone like him, and he was funny, but when she learned who he truly was, Rhae realized their 'friendship' was doomed from the start. When her time came to claim what belonged to her, she knew the Stark dog would support his friend, and Jon Snow being his son, she knew he would become an enemy one day, so she started talking less and less with him, using the 'I'm tired' excuse.

Until one night, he told her that he knew her cousin was Arianne Martell and that she was not a Blacksmith's daughter but Prince Oberyn's daughter. Rhae realized he had found out all of that by himself, simply observing her bedchamber and realizing it was too luxurious for a Blacksmith's daughter.

She had decided to ignore him; he already knew too much, and what if he learned the truth about her and told his father? She knew she couldn't take the risk of that happening; her family would never be avenged, and she had even thought of using the knife to kill him. She had seen how Uncle Oberyn did it, how hard could it be?

In the end, she was a coward and couldn't do it, so she decided to ignore him from now on and hope those strange dreams would stop happening eventually.

Jon Snow is the enemy, and so is the rest of House Stark, she repeated in her head as she rode back to Sunspear.

She remembered every word Uncle Doran had told her, what happened to her mother. He had given her a letter her mother had sent them a month before her death. In her letter, it was written that Lyanna Stark had seduced Rhaegar.

Rhae didn't know what that witch had done to her father, but upon reading that letter, she had promised her mother that she would never rest until House Stark, Lannister, and Baratheon paid for their crimes.

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