A Hungry Dragon

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Chapter 7 (There's no Honor in War), Chapter 8 (A Song for The Past), Chapter 9 (The Woman in White), Chapter 10 (The Princess and The Bastard), and Chapter 11 (Purple Eyes and Hidden Blades) are already available for Patrons.

Two Years After Leaving Winterfell - 290 AC

Ned Stark - 290 AC

Ned had made sure to prepare the entire Winterfell household for the arrival of his mother and Jon. He knew Cat wasn't fond of waiting for them in the courtyard of Winterfell, but this time, Ned didn't listen to her; he hadn't seen them in two years.

He knew his mother couldn't have changed much in the last two years; that was to be expected, but Ned awaited Jon's return more than anyone else.

He wanted to see how much he had grown over the last two years from his letters. It seems Lord Flint had made sure to start Jon's training much earlier than he should have. Ned still believed that Jon should have had at least two more years of being a kid before he started his training, but from his letters, his mother and Lord Flint were in the same mind: to start training as soon as possible.

Ned hoped his mother hadn't overdone it; he knew how persistent she could be. Sometimes, she wanted them to be at their best. Ned looked at Cat holding little Arya in her arms. The little girl was only one name and day old, yet she already showed signs of her wild Wolf Blood, so much so that sometimes Ned felt like he was staring at his own sister. Ned was relieved that Arya was born with the dark hair of House Stark.

As much as he loved his children and Catelyn, he knew after Sansa's birth that rumors were spreading around that House Stark was cursed for marrying into the South. While Ned scoffed at such rumors, he knew some of his banners seemed to be in the same mind, so when he had seen Arya's dark hair, he had been relieved, and the rumors of the Stark Course had slowly died down.

And it seemed the Wolf Blood of House Stark had all gone into Arya.

Little Arya cried out, thrashing around Catelyn's hold, trying to escape her arms somehow. Although she did not know how to walk yet, she knew how to crawl by now, and sometimes, she could be a nightmare.

"Shhhh, Please shhh!" Catelyn said, a little exasperated as she rocked Arya back and forth in her arms.

Sansa closed her ears with her fingers, looking up at Arya with annoyance, before turning to whisper something into Jeyne's ears. The two girls giggled, pointing at Arya.

Ned wondered what Jon looked like now. His hair and some of his facial features looked just like Lyanna, something he was relieved about. If Jon had been born with silver hair of the Targaryens. Ned knew he would need to include Ashara in this since House Dayne were known to have purple eyes and silver hair like Ashara's father and Gerold Dayne. And the last thing he wanted was to put this into her, no.

Let her rest in peace, Ned thought, but Jon's purple eyes were the only sign that he was not a normal Northern boy. Ned only wished that as he grew, his facial features would make him look more like a Stark rather than a Targaryen.

Ned escaped his thoughts when he heard the sound of horses getting closer; the soldiers from the top of the towers sounded their horns. The wooden door rose from the ground with a loud creak, snow dust fell as it opened, and his mother rode inside on her horse, black as night; she wore boiled leather with a dagger strapped to her back, and she looked more like a knight than an old lady around her fifties. Ned chuckled at the baffled expressions from the southern soldiers that Catelyn had brought with her from last year.

Ned expected Jon to be inside the carriage, which was carried by two sets of horses, but a young rider with a pony was the second one to ride inside the courtyard. This one was white like snow, with a bluish tail. The young rider... Ned's breath hitched in his throat at the sight of him, the boy.

The boy was Jon. Ned almost didn't recognize him. He knew a child could change as they grow older into adulthood, but Jon had changed more than he had expected. Just like his mother, Jon was wearing boiled leather with a chainmail underneath, a knife hostler strapped to his waist. By its design, Ned figured it was a Kukri knife. Behind the boy, four other riders followed closely.

Ned quickly ordered the stable boys to take care of their horses. He watched as Jon handed his pony's reins to a boy, as did his mother. And only now, his purple eyes looked back at Ned.

Ned swallowed thickly for a brief moment; he felt like he was staring at Rhaegar Targaryen himself, but much younger and with dark hair like Lyanna. Ned knew a child could change how they look as they grew older, but it seemed Jon was looking more like a Targaryen rather than a Stark.

His mother made her way over to him. He remembered the last time they saw each other was when she slapped Cat. Ned felt relieved when a smile cracked on her face, the same way she used to smile when they were all happy together—the days Ned missed the most.

Her arms spread, and he hugged her. "I have missed you, mother," Ned said, smiling as they pulled away. His mother looked at him with tenderness, caressing his cheek, and for a moment, Ned felt like a kid again.

"I missed you too, my dear." She admitted before taking a step back as Jon approached them.

"...Jon...You have grown. You almost look like a man." Ned said a little uneasily at how much he looked like Rhaegar from up close.

"I missed you too, Father." Jon cried out before jumping on his chest, taking Ned off guard, but he quickly hugged him back.

At that moment, he cared not that Catelyn was glaring at the boy, and as they pulled away, a bright smile spread on his face, and Ned smiled back with love. Despite not seeing him for two years, from what he could see, Jon hadn't changed much, and based on the smile on his face, it seemed the two years in Breakstone Hill had somehow managed to break him out of his shell, the sadness in his eyes seemed to have disappeared almost completely. Ned quickly decided to talk with Jon later to ask him about his time with Lord Flint; he wanted to know what the man had done to achieve this.

"...Jon."

Ned watched as Robb approached slowly, almost unsure if the boy in front of him was really Jon.

"Is it really you?" Robb asked with a smile, standing two feet away from Jon, who looked up at him up and down.

"Do you still wet your pants during the night?" Jon asked snarkily. Ned almost laughed, but he didn't miss the way the servants gasped at the words. They all were caught off guard when Robb burst out laughing.

"Looks whose speaking, you were afraid of Old Nan for two years." Robb remarked with a joking voice, and Jon turned red from embarrassment.

"She's scary." Jon defended himself with his own laughter before hugging Robb, and the Stark boy did the same.

Ned felt his heart swell with joy at the sight of them hugging. He still remembered how Robb cried for hours during the first month after Jon left. It had taken him a long time to return to normal.

Jon pulled away from him before looking at Robb. "Have you started training yet?"

"Yes, Ser Rodric is training me for five months now." Robb answered with a challenging smile. "I will kick your ass later." He quickly added.

"I'm terrified. If you are as good at sword fighting as you are at stealing cake, then not even Ser Barristan can match you." Jon said jokingly, sharing another laugh with Robb. Jon then greeted Arya, but he had to be on his Tip Toes to see her since Lady Stark refused to lower her down for him to see.

Ned watched as Jon greeted Sansa with the same friendly smile he had with Robb, but the smile wavered slightly when Sansa greeted him back.

"It's good to see you, half-brother." Ned lost his smile, too, but that was nothing compared to his mother, who glared at Catelyn, who looked satisfied with Sansa's words.

"Half-Brother? Huh. I guess you wouldn't want a gift from your half-brother, right?" Jon asked with a cunning smile, revealing a large piece of clothing from his bag; the material was silk, and even someone like Ned, who barely knew anything about stitching clothes, knew that silk was one of the most expensive materials for making clothes.

Sansa opened her mouth wide, her eyes turning red. She tried to snatch the piece of cloth from Jon's hand, but he easily moved it away with more speed than Ned expected, a speed that caught him off guard.

"Mom, tell him to give it to him." Sansa cried out, still trying to reach for the piece of silk, before looking up at her mother with pleading eyes. Catelyn glared down at Jon, but this time, the boy seemed unfazed by her attempt to intimidate him.

"Give it to Sansa, bastard." She ordered in a cold voice and with a cruel gaze, but surprisingly, Jon laughed right at her face.

"Didn't you tell Robb three years ago never to accept gifts from bastards, Lady Catelyn? I should do my sister Sansa a favor and not stain her with my gift." Jon said mockingly towards Cat, who looked on the verge of slapping the boy. Her face was red like blood, and Sansa had tears running down her cheeks and was on the verge of sobbing.

Ned decided this was enough; they were causing a scene in front of everyone.

"Enough. Everyone inside." Ned ordered with a booming voice.

Jon nodded right away, and they all walked inside.

Ned watched as Jon and Robb moved past them, speaking in hushed tones; he could hear Jon asking him what he had been doing for the last two years.

Ned smiled melancholy at the sight of the two boys talking, which reminded him of his own siblings. But now, they were nothing but bones: Lyanna and Brandon, all gone. Only Benjen left.

Before he knew it, he was back in the Main Hall of Winterfell and ordered the servants to bring food for his mother, Jon, and the guards that had come with them. He counted four of them. And now that he was getting a better look at them, he noticed they all seemed to guard Jon and his mother especially.

Ned felt a little offended. Winterfell was safe, so why did Lord Flint think his mother and Jon needed guards? The man could be just concerned for his own daughter and his great-grandson. Ned couldn't blame him for that.

Ned sat behind the High Table, as did the rest of his family. Catelyn almost growled when Jon grabbed his chair and placed it right next to Robb's chair, and they started talking in hushed tones as if they were planning to steal something.

With mother sitting to his right, Ned cleared his throat, "Mother, who are the good man with you?" Ned asked, looking at the four guards; all had beards, and one of them had a beard so long that he had tied the end of his beard with a small silver bell. They all had big bellies, but their chests and shoulders were broad and muscular under the chainmail they wore.

"They came here on my father's orders, Ned. The road from Breakstone Hill to Winterfell is long and dangerous." His mother answered almost airly.

"Will they return back to their home, surely your father doesn't think that Winterfell is not safe." Catelyn chimed in carelessly, leaning her head over the table to look at Lyarra past Ned.

"Lady Stark, no castle is ever truly safe." Jon interrupted, causing Cat to look at him. "Surely, you must know that better than all of us, right?" Jon added with a cunning smile, looking at Cat, a smirk growing on his face; at that moment, it seemed Jon was enjoying getting on Catelyn's nerves. Everyone in Winterfell knew not to bring up that incident that happened in Riverrun eleven years ago.

Ned frowned, thinking that Jon was trying to make his wife even more angry with him. Instead of trying to defuse the situation, he chose this moment to mess with her.

"You filthy, Bast—" "Enough." Ned's voice echoed in the Main Hall. Everyone fell silent, and he was sure he heard a plate clatter on the floor. He looked at Jon over his mother's shoulder.

"Jon. We will talk later in my solar. I didn't raise you to insult people." Ned said strictly. He expected to see shame. That's what the old Jon would have shown.

"Forgive me, father." Yet, it didn't sound genuine to Ned as Jon peered over Ned to look at Catelyn.

"Forgive me, Lady Tully. I didn't mean to insult you, after all. No one should talk like that to their betters. Especially at someone who never did anything to them." Ned cursed under his breath, knowing Jon didn't mean those words for himself, but instead, those words were meant for Catelyn, especially the last part, and it seemed Catelyn had understood as much.

"Jon, how about you show the letter Lord Flint gave you." His mother said motherly, and Ned looked a little confused, and his confusion only grew when Jon opened the scroll holder on his waist; the scroll hostler was made of boiled leather and made to look like a tube to place scrolls inside.

Jon pushed his chair away from the table before throwing himself off it. He walked around to the other side of the table until he stood before Lord Stark.

Jon handed Ned the scroll, and he saw the seal of House Flint on the wax. He quickly broke the seal, flattened the scroll on the table, and quietly read what was written inside. What he read made his heart freeze for a moment, but that quickly turned into joy. He knew Lord Flint had taken a liking to Jon; that much was obvious based on his mother's letters, but he had never expected this.

"Ned, what does it say?" Catelyn asked, trying to lean closer and read it over his shoulder, but Ned put the letter away and looked at Jon, who seemed just as eager to know the content written on the scroll.

"Lord Flint has announced that his castle Breakstone Hill will belong to Jon the moment he reaches fourteen name days, making him the Lord of Breakstone Hill, and he claims that when he becomes Lord, he will officially not be a Bastard anymore, but instead carry the Flint name and the castle will be passed down to his children," Ned announced proudly, his heart swelled with joy. The last time he had felt such joy was when he first held Arya in his arms...

"NOO!!" Ned snapped his eyes at Catelyn, whose face had turned red, glaring at Jon. Sansa and Robb had backed away in fear from her.

"Ned, you cannot allow this." Catelyn almost begged him, snapping her eyes at him, looking at him with expectations, but before Ned could utter a word, someone else decided to crush Catelyn's hopes, and from his face, he took great pleasure in doing so.

"I'm afraid not even Father can do anything about this. Breakstone Hill belongs to Lord Flint, and it's his choice to whom he gives it to; not even his Lord Paramount has the right to deny him that." Jon said with a satisfied smile on his face that only grew when Catelyn growled in anger, but instead of doing something drastic, she stormed out of the Main Hall.

Catelyn Tully - Tomorrow Morning

No, no, no, no, no. I won't tolerate this any longer; the bastard should have never returned from that damn place, but not only did he return, but Lord Flint is also willing to give him a castle; why him and not a future son of Ned, a Trueborn, Catelyn wondered, and the thought of Trueborn reminded her that Lord Flint was willing to legitimatize him. No, if that were to happen, the Bastard would kill her Robb and any son she had with Ned in the future; they would never be safe; no, she needed to make Ned see reason.

Catelyn was furious; that bastard had no place here; he wasn't supposed to ever come back; he was supposed to have died in the woods somewhere, his corpse eaten by worms and animals, or go to The Wall.

"No," she screamed alone in her room. That bastard had humiliated her in front of everyone. For so many years, she had suffered the humiliation, the whispers, the stares. She knew they talked about the bastard and how he looked like a Stark. The lords stared. They had seen the differences. They would give Robb weird looks when they saw his red hair. How long before they saw the Bastard as a better option than Robb?

She didn't know when she started walking, but before she knew it, she had already arrived at Ned's solar. The door was guarded by two soldiers who moved out of her way.

She didn't bother knocking and just burst through the door. Ned was startled, standing up as he grasped the pommel of his sword. His eye quickly recognized Catelyn.

"Cat! What are you doing?" He demanded, barely keeping his voice low. His wife shut the door behind her.

"He should leave. I don't care where he goes! He managed to manipulate Lord Flint into giving him the castle. What else can he do?" she screamed at the end. One would easily mistake her for a madwoman, and it seemed Ned's thoughts weren't that far off.

"There are no tricks, Cat; Jon didn't manipulate anyone, stop being irriational," Ned said after a short pause, his voice and face stern. His eyes were sharp, and he looked at her with a hint of disappointment.

Catelyn almost scoffed at her Lord Husband's words, stopping herself before she could say something that would shame her and her entire family—taking a deep breath to calm herself, whispering words that she used to do whenever she was furious and needed to calm down. "What about Breakstone Hill? That castle belongs to our future sons, not to a filthy bastard?" She questioned with loathing in her voice. Her eyes looked at Ned with expectations.

"There's nothing to be done there. Jon was right; I cannot force Lord Flint to hand his castle to someone else, and I wouldn't try to do that even if I had the power. This conversation is over. Shouldn't you be happy about this, Jon will inherit Breakstone Hill, and be far away from Winterfell. Wasn't that what you wanted?" Ned asked her through clenched teeth, slowly making his way towards her, his figure bigger than her, making her look tiny by comparison; she backed away, avoiding the cold eyes of her husband, who was still waiting for an answer from her.

"...I understand, Lord Husband," Catelyn replied hushedly, looking down at her feet. Ned inhaled and looked ready to say something, but she left the solar before he could say anything else. She went to the only place that could calm her down.

As she walked away, Catelyn hoped Sansa was there waiting for her. At the very least, her daughter could see reason. A smile grew on her lips when she remembered Sansa calling him 'Half Bastard' while calling him 'Bastard Half-Brother' would have been even better. Catelyn knew they would get there eventually.

Jon

"You climbed the tower. Have you gone mad?" Robb exclaimed with disbelief as they walked around Winterfell.

"I might have, who knows, it's quite high up there." Jon japed as they walked deeper into the castle; now near the kitchen, they decided to sneak inside like they used to do when they were children and steal pies from the cooks. But as they walked nearer, someone almost slammed against Robb if it wasn't for Jon grabbing him by the back of his shirt and pulling him away.

The man scurried away and did not apologize to them, but as Jon peered at his fleeing form, he noticed the man was wearing rags. A strange mark on his throat made Jon want to follow him, but he decided to pay attention to him later. He was sure he had read about such a mark in a book.

"What an ass," Robb said under his breath as they tiptoed towards the kitchen, using a counter as cover. Jon peered over the counter, and three men and two women were working in the kitchen; their backs turned to them.

Jon turned to look at Robb behind him. "Shhhh." Jon said quietly.

Robb nodded before looking behind and seeing that no one was there for him to shush; he quickly turned to look at Jon, nudging his shoulder. "Who do I shush?"

"SHUSH!!" Jon quickly silenced him as if they were in a life-or-death situation. "Now follow my lead, and do not fart like you used to do."

"I never fart." Robb quickly defended himself with an angry look as they tiptoed into the kitchen, using various chairs and tables to hide themselves; their price was right in front of them. On top of a short, round wooden table, the smell of pies made their mouth water.

Jon, hiding behind a chair and closer to the pie, looked at Robb and made a sign with his hand. Robb nodded right away, reaching into his pocket and pulling out five small rocks.

Taking aim, everyone working in the kitchen quickly leaped onto their feet and searched the back of the kitchen to see who made the noise.

Jon sprung out of his hiding place, grabbed the plate with pie pieces, and ran out of the kitchen as fast as he could. He was sure he heard one of them shouting at him to stop, but he didn't stop until he and Robb were safe behind the walls of his chamber. Once Robb closed the door, they celebrated.

"YES!!" The two shouted, slapping each other's hands; Jon smiled in joy despite not seeing him for two years. Robb was still Robb—his brother.

He hadn't changed. He placed the plate with pie on the table, and Robb reached out to grab one of the pieces, only to move his hand away with a yelp of pain.

"What's Wrong?" Jon asked right away, looking at the plate, before looking back at Robb, who was shaking his hand around; the skin of his fingers had turned bright red.

"It's hot!" Robb shouted as if the answer was obvious before looking at Jon strangely, grabbing his wrist, and looking at his hands as if searching for something.

"H—How are you not burned??" Robb shouted with disbelief, pointing at his normal-looking hands. There was no burn mark anywhere.

Jon stared down at his hands before reaching out and touching the underneath of the plate, but there was no heat to burn his hand; all he could feel was a gentle warmth.

"I—I don't know..." Jon shrugged his shoulders, trying to act like it wasn't really a big deal, but he secretly wondered why his hands weren't burned. He knew he could handle a little heat; that was obvious, but he never expected to handle a heat that burned Robb's hands. He knew that wasn't normal.

Robb opened his mouth to say something when they heard someone knocking on the door; the two boys froze for a moment, thinking the chefs had reported them to Lord Stark.

Jon quickly grabbed the plate and hid it under the blanket, and Robb pushed his sleeves down, making sure the small burn on his hand wasn't as visible before opening the door.

Only to reveal that it was Sansa. Her eyes were red, and the two boys knew she had been crying. She ignored Robb as she passed the threshold and walked past him, looking at Jon.

From her face alone, Jon already knew what she wanted.

"...B--Brother. I'm sorry for calling you...that." She apologized with tears, tripping on her words. While Robb looked proud to hear that from his sister, the same wasn't for Jon, who stared at her blankly.

"Why?"

"Huh?" Sasha said, caught off guard.

"Why are you sorry, Sansa?"

"Because I called you, 'Half Brother'" Sansa explained, looking confused.

"That doesn't answer my question, Sasha. Why are you sorry? Where were you before coming here?"

"Ahh, with Jeyne." Sasha answered a little unsurely, not meeting his eyes.

"So, why are you apologising? Lady Stark would have never told you that what you did was wrong, and the same is for Jeyne. She herself called me bastard the last time I saw her. So why are you here apologising?"

Sansa backed away from him, looking down at her feet, as Jon slowly strode towards her with the same blank look. "You meant none of it, and you just want the piece of silk that I bought for you. If that's all what you want, then I will gladly give it to you."

"REALLY!" Sansa said hopefully with a bright smile, looking up at him. All the insecurity, guilt, and shame had evaporated from her face.

"No." Jon answered with a final voice, shattering the hope in her eyes.

"You—You—Mother was right about you." Sansa screamed at him before leaving the chamber, closing the door with a big slam.

Once they were alone, Robb looked at Jon with an unimpressed look. "Was that really necessary?"

"Yes. Sansa wasn't here to apologize; she didn't feel sorry in the slightest. She just wanted my gift and she would return back to how she was when I arrived. Sansa needs to learn that actions have consequences, and until she truly is sorry. Only then will I accept her apology." Jon said with a stern look that Robb had never seen in his brother's eyes. At that moment, he realized that Jon was no longer the same Jon he remembered.

"Consequences? Jon, not everything needs to be a lesson. What do you even know of Consequences?" The moment he said that Jon's eyes turned icy, and a murderous look appeared in his eyes, making Robb flinch as if he were burned again. That look frightened him.

"Jon...Are you alright?" Robb asked cautiously. He had never felt this frightened by his brother. The look in his eyes slowly disappeared, and he looked back at Robb with the same calm look he had before Sansa came.

"I'm fine...Let's eat the pies before they got cold."

Ohh, right, Robb murmured under his breath; he had completely forgotten about it.

As the two boys sat down, Robb kept glancing at Jon every now and then. His hands weren't burned, and he acted as if the heat of the pie wasn't bothering him. Robb wondered what had happened to his brother to make him look like that.

Later

"Maester Luwin, are you there?" Jon asked, knocking on the door with his knuckles for the fifth time now. This time, he heard the faint footsteps of the old Maester, and the door opened, revealing the old man, his chains clattering on his neck, his old eyes staring down at Jon.

"My boy. It's good to see you again. I'm sorry for not being in the Courtyard to greet you, but I haven't felt good for a week now."

"Huh, and here I thought Maesters never get sick." Jon japed, and the Old Maester chuckled with him, his eyes twinkling with affection before opening the door wide.

"What can I do for you?" Luwin asked warmly, walking back as Jon passed the threshold and into the chamber.

"I would like your keys. I want to see the library, and the door is locked." Jon said politely, and the Maester felt his heart swell with joy.

"Always a delight to hear such words from a young child." Maester Luwin said with a smile as he reached deep into his pockets and pulled out the ring with the keys. He walked out of his chamber with young Jon following him.

"You know, if you continue to study like this, you can become a Maester."

"A Maester?" Jon asked thoughtfully, looking deep in thought.

"Yes, my boy. The Citadel cares not of your name, and I would make sure to send them a letter. They will acknowledge that I suggested you. Knowing you, within ten years, you will be a Maester. And since I'm not as young as I used to be, you can take my place if you wish. Winterfell is your home after all." Maester Luwin said with an encouraging smile.

"Thank you for your words, Maester Luwin, but Lord Flint has already promised me that his castle will be mine once I reach fourteen name days." Jon said the good news with a smile, and the Old Maester almost had to stop to take a breather.

Luwin already knew Lady Catelyn was not in a good mood. He knew her well enough to know that she was already thinking of ways to change Lord Flint's mind so that the castle would be inherited by a future son of hers.

"Then congratulations are in order, Jon. I hope it serves you well, and I hope you pass it to your children, children's children in the future." Maester Luwin said sincerely, patting Jon on the back.

The boy smiled up at him before they resumed their walk to the library.

"Maester, what were you like when you were young?" Maester Luwin chuckled at his curiosity.

"Curious like you, young Jon. But you have actually surpassed my expecations on what someone could achieve with their talent." Luwin said.

"I did?"

"Yes, my dear boy. For a long time, I have believed that men and woman are born with a sword in their hand or a book. One cannot have both, but you are the expectations as far as I can see. You have a sharp mind, young Jon, and your ability to handle a sword is even sharper."

"They do say that bastards always grow faster than the Trueborn," Jon remarked, and Luwin's smile wavered a little as he stopped in front of the Library Door; the ring with ten keys fumbled on his fingers as he tried to find the one he needed.

"Maybe that's it, but I have seen many boys like you, Jon. Trust me, you are unlike the rest." Luwin said encouragingly, hoping to make the boy feel better; he found the right key and turned to look at the young Jon. "But don't tell Lady Stark I said that this will be our little secret?" Luwin said with a playful wink, and Jon chuckled.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Maester Luwin," Jon commented, and the old Man chuckled in amusement as he unlocked the door.

Once they entered, Maester Luwin waited by the door as Jon started climbing the ladder on the third bookshelf at the rear of the large chamber.

The old man's eyes could no longer read the words carved into the shelf's wood, but he remembered which part of History that specific Book Shelf contained.

"Dragons."

"What?" Jon asked, looking at the old Maester over his shoulder, a book in one hand and the other holding onto the ladder so as not to fall down.

"That Bookshelf has books about dragons, well, Targaryens, Valyria, and the Century of Blood after the Fall of Valyria."

"The Century of Blood?"

"Indeed. I'm sure you have read about the Dance of the Dragons, the most brutal war in Westeros." Jon nodded, paying attention to the old Maester.

"The Century of Blood was a period of chaos which lasted for approximately one century. It began following the destruction of the Valyrian Freehold in the Doom of Valyria, which took place in 102 BC (Before the Conquest). It was one of the bloodiest times in Recorded History, young Jon." Luwin said gravely before looking back at Jon, who had fallen silent.

"So, which age of Dragons your mind craves to read this time? Perhpas I could help you to find the book you want?"

"I appreciate it, Maester Luwin. But I enjoy reading by myself."

"Ahh, of course. Of course. Well, my advice. I used to read near windows when I was young. Always helped with my focus." Luwin said, smiling at the boy before leaving the Library.

Once the door was closed, Jon opened the first book. "The Ancient Dragons of Valyria."

Jon read and read, and before he knew it, three whole hours passed, yet there was nothing there to help him with his condition. Jon had checked on the Targaryens, the book 'Fire and Blood' written by Archmaester Gyldayn.

He had been sure that reading about them would shed some light on the mystery of his hands, but they gave no answers, according to the Books. The Targaryens have never been immune to flames or heat. They were just like everyone else, and their only special traits were their ability to tame Dragons and their famous facial features, silver hair, and purple eyes.

Jon briefly wondered if he had Valyrian blood. His purple eyes were still a question mark that his father refused to answer, but again, House Dayne was known to have people with purple eyes.

After two more hours of reading, Jon decided to give up. But after placing the books back in their place, walking out of the Library, and stepping onto the balcony that looked down on the courtyard, he noticed the same strange man with the weird mark on his neck; he was hiding in the stables, near the horses.

"Who is he?" Jon mumbled under his breath, walking downstairs, but when he reached the stables. The man was gone.

Three Days Later

Jon waved back at his father and his small company of riders as they rode out of Winterfell. His father would go hunting in the Woods with a group of his men, and as much as Robb begged his father to let them come with him, he told them to stay home and wait for his return; he promised that he would return within three days.

After playing with Robb in the Courtyard all day, Jon noticed the strange man once again. This time, he was walking towards one of the towers. He didn't know who he was but knew he wasn't from Winterfell.

An hour later, a great fire engulfed one of the towers of Winterfell.

A Foolish Man

"Good, like flies after flames." He mumbled with a smile, watching the arms of the flames reach for the sky. A group of men holding buckets with water were already running towards the tower to extinguish the fire, but he had made sure to spill enough alcohol to get an entire army drunk. It would take a long time for them to extinguish the flames.

The man tiptoed, avoiding anyone he could. He remembered where the girl's chamber was, and he was sure she was sleeping at this hour.

The mere thought of her made him lick his lips. Perhaps King Balon Greyjoy would allow him to make her his salt wife.

The man walked and walked; all the corridors were nearly empty, and the only people he could see were peasants who paid him little attention. Everyone was paying attention to the fire.

Turn after turn, he reached her chamber, and the door opened with a turn of the handle. He quickly kicked it, slamming the back of it against the wall, but the chamber was empty...

"Where is she?" Confused and angry, he mumbled when he heard a noise from behind.

Loose

His leg exploded in pain, and he let out a scream; he didn't even realize that he was on the floor on one knee facing the empty chamber, and when his eyes snapped back at the leg, an arrow was sticking out of the back of his knee.

"Now I know where I have seen that mark on your neck." He looked over his shoulder, turning fully. In the middle of the large hallway stood a little boy holding a crossbow, slowly preparing another bolt.

What the fuck?! The man cursed as his leg bleed, the blood turned the floor red, his fingers curled around the arrow, and he tried to push it out, but the pain only grew.

"I wouldn't do that, the pointy end of this arrow is made to damage your inside if you try to pull it out...Iron Born." The pain almost disappeared at that moment; he felt cold sweat on his face, and the boy stared at him blankly, with almost no emotions.

"How?!" He gasped out weakly. This wasn't supposed to happen. This should have been his moment of glory. King Balon would have given his daughter to him for such a big service, maybe both the Stark girl and Asha. This was the moment of his life; how could a little kid ruin it all!!

"I have read about your ways. What is dead may never die. They hold you down with your head underwater. They hold you by your neck, that's where the marks come from, don't they?" The boy said mockingly, and the man felt his blood boil in anger. How dare this brat mock their way of living?!

"You Brat. You filthy Greener. I will—AAHHHHH." His other leg exploded in pain, and his face hit the hard stone floor. He tried to stand up, but the leg gave in, and the arrow broke inside the wound, and he screamed even more.

"Oh god!" The man screamed in pain, and he looked up to see the boy was now closer, looking down at him as if he were a worm.

"No, no, no. There's no god for you here. It's only me." The man's eyes grew wide with fear. This was no child. This was the devil, the Great Other.

The boy kneeled down to his level, far enough away from his arm's reach. "I'm sure Lord Stark would like to know why a filthy Iron Born like you tried to steal his daughter, Sansa Stark. I'm sure you have heard of Bloody Eagle. I advise you to spill all your secrets." At that moment, the man had never felt more fear...

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