5-Storm Of Fire

Many dreams flowed forth into his mind that night, the most prominent being a man wearing an antlered helm, wielding a hammer in one hand, and a sword in the other, both aflame. He stood before a storm of icy cold, a darkness he was making his final stand against.

"There's something in the woods."

"Woods, woods, woods!"

"SOMETHING IN THE WOODS!" Voices called out before something emerged from the darkness, shadowy, concentrated, and solid, wearing piercing, dead blue eyes. It raised both its arms and released an inhuman screech, causing Jon to wake in a sweat.

The horrors he witnessed in twenty years of service paled in comparison to what the voices warned of. Men, no matter how fanatic, could be bargained with; the dead can't.

Pushing the foreboding warnings aside for the moment, his first thought was to check the egg, which he had still wrapped in his fur cloak, only to discover it had not yet hatched, for which a small part of him hoped it would. He couldn't blame it; a satchel wasn't exactly fine lodgings, and if his hypothesis was correct, it was only a century old despite not yet turning to stone. It would take much to rouse it enough to hatch.

Going through his daily routine of training with Ser Rodrik and blowing through Maester Luwin's lessons intended for an eight-year-old mind, he took to the woods once more on Eikthyr with Barristan not far behind. Despite being from down south, Eikthyr took to the North arguably better than his rider did, finding peace in the dangerous Wolfswood. The same could not be said for Barristan, who remained quieter than usual, likely mentally battling his frigid and slightly shivering body. Riding for over an hour through the densely packed trees, he stumbled upon a location he'd never known to exist, but was otherwise perfect for his plan. Densely packed together was a small crescent-shaped cluster of Weirwoods with a Heart Tree in their center. Despite its increased probability of getting caught, he knew if he could get out the gates of Winterfell under the cover of night, he could enact his crackpot plan.

Returning to the castle, Jon was presented with an amusing sight. Robb, Ned's oldest son of nine years, was also being tutored in the art of swordplay. Despite his younger cousin's age, it was more of a circus. As he once more had his feet swept from under him, Robb slowly retrieved himself, only to notice Jon now spectating, still sitting atop Eikthyr.

"Morrow Jon, Barristan!" Robb greeted.

"It is Robb. I can see Rodrik is now also putting you through it," Jon replied as he dismounted Eikthyr, allowing him to wander into the Winterfell Godswood without requiring a stable hand. Who would have thought, the 'King of the Forest' felt at home in a grove.

Snow, having caught her morning bounty of a rabbit, sat on a small perch overlooking the courtyard as she took pieces from her meal.

"Your grace, I have a report on your request," Rodrik spoke.

"Request?" Jon asked curiously, not remembering specifically asking for anything.

"Mikken demonstrated his fine woodwork yet again with this piece, your grace. I hope it is to your liking," Rodrik smiled as he pulled a small dragon-shaped wooden hammer from his belt, offering it to Jon, who gained a large smile from ear to ear.

Slightly bowing as he accepted the weapon, Jon noted its weight as he also tested its balance, finding both to be agreeable for such a weapon.

"Constructed from Ironwood, your grace, a tough, sturdy grain you wouldn't easily find breaking nor splintering. Bound to give whatever poor sod who meets it one hell of a headache," Rodrik chuckled.

"Give Mikken my finest regard, it's a fine piece. Why a dragon, if I might ask?" Jon asked curiously.

"An artisan's inspiration, your grace. It can take them worlds away, often literally," Rodrik replied.

After some archery practice with his Goldenheart bow that amazed Jon and impressed Rodrik, Jon took to the Winterfell dining hall where Ned, the pregnant Lady Catelyn, their children, and some servants took to eating breakfast. The two youngest, Arya and Bran, were assisted by their mother and Septa Mordane, but Sansa had long since been feeding herself.

"Good morrow all!" Jon greeted, getting smiles and warm greetings from his family, a stark (pun intended) difference to King's Landing.

"Shall you like some honeyed porridge, your grace?" Lady Catelyn asked.

"I shall be delighted, my Lady, and fret not, I am capable of getting my own. I wouldn't want to burden you any further," Jon replied with a warm smile as he prepared his meal.

"How goes your morning ride?" Ned asked.

"Excellent as usual. I feel Eikthyr takes to the North even better than I do, and that's certainly saying something," Jon replied.

"Perhaps if Sansa finishes her breakfast, you would be willing to allow her another ride around the courtyard," Ned proposed.

"OH YES PLEASE!" Sansa begged, clapping her hands together fast enough to accidentally fling a stray spoonful of porridge across the table and into little Arya's face, causing her temper to flare and return the favor in the form of a wooden spoon that just missed Sansa's head by an inch.

"I'm not opposed. It's rare he takes to anyone other than me. He nearly took the hand off a gardener once back in the capital. She was rough with the plants though, so I guess it could've been just a bit of karma..." Jon chuckled, getting a few laughs from around the table.

As quickly as the day passed, darkness once more fell. Using his typical stealth route and utilizing guard shifts, Jon reached Eikthyr in the Godswood. Silently riding out of a small side gate that could be opened with little notice from anyone in the courtyard, Jon took his leave from the castle and into the Wolfswood. Using his steed's intimidating presence to ward off anything from wolf packs to shadow cats, he eventually reached the small gathering of Weirwoods once more. Gathering logs and sticks into a small platform, he set the trap with the appetizing honey-glazed beef, wrapping the mechanism's chain around the Heart Tree itself as an anchor. Quickly moving to get out of sight in a set of bushes a couple dozen meters away with Eikthyr accompanying him, he began to wait, and wait, and wait, and wait...

Hearing the sudden clacking of horse hooves, Jon pulled out his dagger that he had cleaned and honed, pointing it in the direction of the noise, revealing an unexpected familiar face.

"Jon Baratheon," Melisandre, The Red Priestess, greeted.

"Huh, out of all the people I expected to soon meet, you were far lower on the list...Say, aren't you supposed to be whispering sweet nothings into my uncle's ear?" Jon asked as Eikthyr prepared to strike with his antlers pointed right at her. Dropping his guard would be the last thing he does around her, remembering what people like her do to those who hold king's blood.

"I was wrong in my belief he was the Lord's chosen. In the flames, I then saw the truth, a White Stag nesting an egg that refused to hatch," she said, dismounting from her horse.

"It's over a century and a half old. Even with heat, it remained dormant. I once heard only death can pay for life, is that true?" Jon asked.

"Precisely, my Prince. We shall wait for a sacrifice, but if I may..." Melisandre said, reaching out her hand, referring to the egg.

Jon knew little when it came to working with the fickleness of the world's magic. Even if the ritual wouldn't work, handing over the egg to someone who knows more than him could lead to three routes: a dragon, a still unhatched egg, or a weird undead shadow hatchling...thing. That was unless she intended to use him as the fuel.

"Tell me, if you think you can do this, would my or my mount's soul be the payment for the life?" Jon asked.

"No, my Prince. If the visions can be believed, you are promised by the Lord, but so is the beast who's trapped by his own instincts," Melisandre said with not even a second passing before a mighty roar echoed out through the forest in the direction of the bear trap.

Both making their way over, they discovered a grizzly had fallen for the trap in what must've been record time.

"If he or she won't do, then I don't know what will," Jon said, getting a reassuring hand on his shoulder from Melisandre.

"When the beast finally falls, you will need to place the egg in its embrace with haste," Melisandre said as she approached the animal, nearly having her head taken off from a strike, only missing by mere inches due to the chain binding it as she remained unfazed by the creature.

"Āeksios Ōño, aōhos ōñoso ilōn jehikās! Āeksios Ōño, ilōn misās! Kesrio syt bantis zābrie issa se ossȳngnoti lēdys!" (Lord of Light, cast your light upon us! Lord of Light, defend us! For the night is dark and full of terrors!).

Upon the utterance of the last word, the wood, platform, and the bear alike burst into flames, causing it to roar in agony for what felt like an eternity before succumbing and crashing to the ground. Jon cautiously approached the burning corpse, quickly submerging his hands in the flames to place the egg, then backing off just as quickly with no signs of burns on his hands. Looking up at the Heart Tree above, he noticed how it didn't burn, instead appearing as though the face on it was glowing the same orangey-red hue of the fire, but hard to tell through the inferno.

"The Lord and the Gods of Old do not often agree, for they have only once before. A momentous occasion indeed," Melisandre spoke with a smile.

Some time later, as Jon slowly approached the aftermath of the inferno, he knelt and picked up the now charcoal black egg as it began to rapidly crack and disintegrate, revealing a sapphire-blue hatchling who screeched, sniffed, and then nuzzled to him in that order as he could sense the strong bond already forming.

"It's a girl, my Prince," Melisandre said with a smile as Jon looked up at her with stars in his eyes.

"A girl, huh? A little bundle of scaly fucking hellfire is probably more accurate," he said with a belly laugh. "Now, a name. Name, name, name! Starfyre? Shadowfyre? Moonfyre? Sapphfyre?...Stormfyre...Stormfyre! Yeah, I think that's fitting!" He said, running a finger down her spine, seemingly much to her pleasure with cooing noises following.

Eikthyr approached his father and his new sibling out of curiosity, sniffing out the strange little creature, eventually getting close enough for Stormfyre to consider him a threat, biting his nose, causing the stag to reel back.

"Now that wasn't very nice. Well...this is going to be a challenge, isn't it..." Jon said with a sigh.

"The Lord has great things in mind for you, little Prince. I have seen that much. When winter comes, you will find me by your side," Melisandre said with a small bow before taking her leave.

"Thank you!" Jon called out, getting nothing in response.

Surprised at her quick acceptance of such meat, Stormfyre ate her fill from the jerky Jon had brought until she refused any more, his signal to pack her away so she could sleep in his satchel and take his leave from the forest. Eventually arriving back at Winterfell just before dawn, he was welcomed back with no apparent suspicion, for morning rides were the norm for him and Eikthyr. Placing Eikthyr back in the Godswood, he quickly made his way into the castle, then his room.

Quickly grabbing one of Snow's spare metal cages, he gently picked the infant dragon from his pouch, who upon being disturbed looked up to her new owner/friend.

"I know you guys don't like captivity, but I need to find you a good cave first. This will need to do for now," Jon said while gently tracing his finger down her spine, once more causing her to settle, allowing him to place her in the cage.

Placing a lit candle just beneath the now hanging and cloaked cage, its bottom began to warm to the touch, providing a far more comfortable surface for her to lay on.

"Jon!" Ned called out from down the hall.

"Fuck!" Jon muttered to himself, quickly scouring through his thoughts to see if there was a better way he could hide her, but alas, his ideas ran short.

"Jon? You in there, lad?" Ned asked, knocking on the door.

"Is something the matter, my Lord?" Jon asked, opening the door wide to avoid further suspicion.

"Ser Rodrik is looking for you. He seems mighty cross at you forgetting another lesson," Ned spoke with a slight smile on his face, knowing all too well what Rodrik puts the forgetful through.

"Of course, how foolish of me," Jon replied as he walked out of his room and shut the door behind him, as Ned only for a glimpse looked at the covered cage but otherwise paid no mind to it.

Somewhere in The Citadel, Old Town, The Reach

A Maester worked away on a piece of parchment that was one of dozens on his desk. A letter to an unknown recipient, until the smell of smoke quickly caught his attention.

"ARCHMAESTER, THE VAULT, IT'S ON FIRE!" an Aspirant Maester panicked as he barged into the room.

"Calm yourself, boy, we have procedures in place for this very scenario. We're in the world's largest library, for God's sake," the Archmaester scorned as he slowly got up from his seat, his large linked chain around his neck comprised of various materials rattling and clacking around.

As the elderly scholar made his way through the hall of his panicking colleagues who all worked to fetch water, he simply made his way over to the outer door to the 'Archive' where all the copies of the most important texts are held. Pulling a small lever next to the doorway, a trap door built into the ceiling opened, flooding the room in a controlled manner, quelling all flames bar a few small ones emitting from a group of black candles. The moment the remaining water emptied into specially crafted holes around the room that led into underground chambers, he made his way in, investigating these candles. They were known as Glass Candles, and the sight of them burning gave the Archmaester a smile never before seen to the point it unsettled his less seasoned colleagues.

"What is it, Archmaester Marwyn?" another Aspirant asked while slowly making his way into the room.

At that moment, the rest of the Conclave arrived. At the sight of the candles lit, they looked to their colleague in the room with looks of concern on some and intrigue in others.

"The Dragons," Marwyn turned, "have returned!"