The first light of dawn spilled over the snow-capped battlements of Winterfell, bathing the courtyard in a pale orange glow. The cold air bit softly at the exposed skin, and the quiet hum of men preparing horses and wagons filled the air. The sigil of House Drakon, fluttered beside the direwolf of House Stark.
Lord Stark stood beside his wife and children as they watched House Drakon make their final preparations. The bond between the two Houses had deepened in recent moons, Winterfell had grown warmer, and more secure thanks to Drakon craftsmen and workers. The men and gray beards that have trained with the Drakon blades have become more fierce. Some have even joined the ranks of Drakon recruits.
Lord Stark stepped forward to meet Lord Samir, who stood beside his son Samar and Storia, both ready for the long road south toward King's Landing.
"Your aid has done more for the North than gold ever could. Winterfell is in your debt, Lord Samir."
Samir inclined his head slightly, his tone calm and measured. "The North has long memories, Lord Stark. It remembers honor and duty. My House stands by yours when the cold winds rise. Do not think of this as a debt, but house Drakon looking out for our sworn ally."
Ned gave a small nod, then glanced to where Sansa stood beside her mother, radiant, and graceful despite the frost in the air.
Ned with a faint smile. "My daughter speaks highly of your son. Perhaps, when they are older… a marriage may be worth considering. Should he take after his father more then his mother."
Lady Catelyn looked toward her husband, reading his intent, while Sansa blushed faintly, while staring at Samir. Samar gave a knowing glance to his son.
Samar faintly heard what the two were saying , and smirked. " I really can't stand how the people of this world and era think. I'm 6, and there are bigger things to worry about."
The clatter of boots interrupted the exchange as Jon and Robb Stark strode out from the keep, smiling like brothers who had just shared some secrets. Jon's eyes were brighter than Samar remembered, a spark of change.
Jon walked towards Samar. " Lord Samar. I've decided to stay in Winterfell for now. There's much for me to learn here, and when the day comes you call upon me… I'll be ready. Then you can show me all of Essos and the world beyond."
His words carried quiet conviction, the kind that made even the cold wind pause. Samar frowned slightly, tilting his head.
"You seem different Jon, did something happen last night ?" speak as if you know when that day will come."
Jon hesitated before speaking "Something did happen… I believe I still have a lot to learn in the North."
Samar nodded. "I understand Jon, and know this if you ever need help I will answer your call."
The two clasped forearms, the gesture of warriors bound by trust.
Samar smiled. "Then I'll look forward to hearing the name Jon Snow echo through the halls of Winterfell when I return. That goes for you to Rob don't fall behind your brother."
Rob smiled. "I don't intend on it my lord. How else am I supposed to look out for him."
Behind them, Storia smirked and reached forward to ruffle Jon's and dark hair, and robs red-brown hair..
"My little lord is right. Don't you pups get lazy. I'm gonna put a word with Ser Barristan Selmy himself when we arrive to Kings Landing. I will request he'll take you as his squire when you're old enough. Rob I believe he would take you in as well. But first you both will need to spend time under lord Mormont's guidance."
That caught both the stark boys and the Lord and Lady Stark off guard.
Ned narrowed his eyes. "Ser Barristan Selmy and lord Mormont's? That's no small claim. Why should the boys train at the Wall first?"
Storia folded her arms. " This is Lord Samar's idea."
Every gaze turned toward Samar. The young Lord only smiled, mysterious as ever.
Storia continued. "He said Jon will learn more from Maester Aemon's wisdom and Jeor Mormont's leadership. Then when he's ten name days, send him to Ser Barristan. That will not only show him how politics work, but show him how to be one of the best swordsman in the country from the best."
Ned looked from Storia to Samar, his brow furrowing, but then he nodded slowly.
Catelyn looked at Jon. Since finding out his true linage she has had mixed feelings. More guilt and shame, while her deep seated resentment has disappeared like it never existed. She knew the red keep doesn't take well to bastards. She thought maybe she could use her families influence to help make Jon's life a little easier.
Ned nodded his head: "I understand the wall, and having them fostered there. But Kings Landing? They will not take kindly to Jon being a bastard."
Catelyn (quietly): "Dear husband, I believe Jon and Rob would be perfect fits. Jon wouldn't be the first bastard to rise up to become a knight, remember Ser Mervyn Flowers?"
Ned noticed what Cat was doing. She wasn't trying to get rid of Jon but support him. "Aye wife your right about that. Okay Storia set it up and I will handle the rest."
Storia nodded. "Yes my lord."
The sound of hooves broke the calm. The new gates of Winterfell opened, revealing riders cloaked in grey and pink, House Bolton. The flayed man sigil gleamed faintly in the morning sun. Lord Roose Bolton dismounted gracefully, his pale eyes were unreadable as he gazed their way.
"Lord Stark. Lord Drakon. The Dreadfort gives its greetings. How have you been?"
Despite his eerie composure, his tone toward the Drakons was oddly warm. He inclined his head to Samir.
Roose shook Samir's hand "It's been some time, old friend. How fares Lady Seris?"
Samir smiled faintly. "Alive and well. She'll be pleased to hear you ask after her."
Wait what,... Old friend? Bolton knows Seris?
Samar couldn't help the flicker of surprise in his expression. The idea that his father and Lord Bolton were friends was a surprising thought. Bolton from my memories of the books is one of the most cold, and cruelest characters. He is also a master strategist and politician. But his lack of empathy makes it hard to understand him. But I be lying if I said I didn't respect him from what I knew.
But beneath that surprise, something else stirred in Samar's senses. Through the Force, Samar eyes made contact with Lord Bolton and Bolton just smiled slightly, and Samar felt it. Bolton radiated something faint yet unmistakable, a darkness held in check. It was like the slow hum of a blade just beneath a dark fog.
Samar could tell without a shadow of doubt that Bolton can use the Force! And the dark side of the force from what it felt like. Samar's chest tightened as he thought of Ramsay Bolton, the bastard of Roose. And the possibility of him having the same abilities or being stronger. He could basically be a unhinged Palpatine.
Please… let that bastard not exist here. Or if he does, may he never awaken to the Force.
I then turned to my father quietly.
I then asked "Why is Lord Bolton here?"
"Every time the Drakon leave the North, a house of the North ensures we depart safely. This time the Boltons will guide our departure through the Northern passes. It's a tradition between our House and the North just formalities, nothing more."
Samar nodded, though unease still flickered at the back of his mind.
Thousands of miles away, beneath the Drakon Estate in Essos, torches burned low, their light crawling across black stone walls. The air was thick with incense and whispers of old magic.
Viserys Targaryen sat slumped in a corner of his cell, his once-golden hair tangled and filthy. His face had grown hollow, his spirit cracked. Across from him, chained to the wall with runes of containment and bindings of black steel, was Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain. His monstrous form was restrained by heavy chains that shimmered faintly.
The sound of footsteps echoed through the hall. Three figures entered.
Daenerys Targaryen, robed in training tunic, walked ahead, her eyes calm and her posture posed. Beside her were Maran and Seris walked. Maran carrying two curved Drakon blades.
Viserys tried to rise but fell to his knees instead.
Viserys spoke arrogantly "Why am I still here? Months… and months I've rotted in this pit while you..."
Maran moved before he could finish. With nothing more than cold stare, the pressure of the Force broke his weak will like a predator before it's prey. The air trembled as he gasped, throat closing under the invisible weight.
Maran spoke, her voice sharp, and filled with authority. "Silence. Gregor Clegane. Viserys Targaryen. Your time has come. You will help create a miracle unseen in House Drakon for two centuries."
Gregor laughed, even bound.
"You Drakon whores. You make me fuck your women and chain me like a beast. But you won't let me have a taste of you and your whore of a friend. I wont be helping you anym...."
The insult barely left his mouth before Seris lifted her hand. His large body lifted from the ground, choking violently as her blue eyes pierced his very being.
Seris spoke coldly. "Your life is needed, not your tongue. Speak disrespectfully again in front the Lady, and I'll let Oberyn Martell finish what he started."
She released him, letting him crash to the ground. The Mountain glared but said no more.
The Drakon blades forced both prisoners to their feet and escorted them deeper, down winding tunnels that glowed with symbols etched in red light. The air grew warmer, almost alive, as they entered a chamber beneath the estate.
At its center lay a stone bed, and upon it, a figure wrapped entirely in dark blood red cloths, and was motionless. Two Red Priestesses stood beside it, one an older woman with eyes like molten amber, the other a young girl no older than fourteen.
The smell of blood filled the air.
Seris gestured sharply, and the guards forced Viserys and Clegane to kneel. The sound of chains clinking echoed through the vast hall.
"We shall begin the Ceremony of Rebirth."