The Red Dragon
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16. Son of Lyanna Stark
🕑 Added 2025-02-17 17:27:06 +0000 UTC*Third Person POV*
Jon nodded and stepped into the ritual circle he had prepared. The brazier’s flames flared higher as he crushed the wolf’s heart into the thick weirwood sap, mixing it with the scales of Caraxes and the latest gift the Child had given him. The ice taken from Winterfell’s crypts rested within the mixture, absorbing its power.
Kneeling, he dipped his fingers into the thickened liquid, tracing it over his heart, down his arms, and across his brow. The substance was pure white, and after Aether's confirmation, he knew he had drawn everything correctly. Taking a deep breath, Jon moved to the center of the ritual circle he had inscribed beforehand and sat.
As soon as he settled, a pulse of energy thrummed through the clearing, a vibration that sank deep into his bones. The brazier’s flames twisted and flickered—orange shifting to blue, then to something more ethereal, a shimmer of shifting hues. The wind howled through the trees, and Ghost tilted his head back, letting out a long, haunting cry that echoed through the Wolfswood.
Jon, however, remained focused. He picked up the knife at his side and dragged it across his palm, opening a deep gash. Blood welled up, crimson and hot, spilling onto the circle he had carved into the ground. The ritual circle now gleamed as if drawn in blood. Jon hesitated for a brief moment before allowing a few drops of his own blood to fall into the bowl.
He frowned. Why did these rituals always demand that he drink something unnatural? Yet he already knew the answer. Steeling himself, he lifted the bowl and brought it to his lips.
The moment the liquid touched his tongue, he felt it—heat and cold, burning and freezing all at once, searing through his veins, numbing his lungs, igniting something deep within. His vision blurred, the world around him dissolving into shadows and light, into something ancient and primal stirring within him.
And for a moment, he saw.
A wolf, standing upon a field of snow, eyes like his own, piercing and fierce.
A dragon, wings unfurled, roaring into a crimson sky.
A weirwood tree, its carved face weeping red tears, whispering his name.
Then, the vision shattered, and Jon collapsed, gasping for breath. Ghost was beside him in an instant, pressing his great head against him. Caraxes loomed overhead, watching with an understanding far too deep for a mere beast.
Jon clenched his fists, but his body would not respond. He could not stand, could not even twitch his fingers.
He was changed. How, he did not yet know. But the helplessness of being unable to control his own body irritated him far more than it should. He lay on the snow-covered ground, staring up at the stars and the moon hanging high in the darkened sky, surrounded by the quiet peace of nature.
Distantly, wolves howled, but Jon remained unworried. Ghost was with him, and even if he weren’t, Caraxes’s mere presence was enough to ward off most predators lurking in the Wolfswood.
"Aether, I know you told me that changes would be slow, but I didn’t expect this," Jon murmured, more out of boredom than complaint. Sleep refused to come, and he had already studied the stars enough for one night.
[Well, you’d be surprised by what I found.] Aether’s voice echoed in his mind. [Half an hour after the ritual, I suddenly felt your bond with Caraxes deepen. It’s grown so strong that I can now access his memories.]
Jon would have jolted upright if he could, but in his current state, he could only express his shock through words. "What? How can you access his memories?"
[As you already know, I’m bound to your soul. And a dragon’s bond with its rider? It’s also a connection between souls. When your link with Caraxes deepened during the ritual, it allowed me to tap into his memories—just as I can access yours.]
Jon’s mind whirled. A bond between souls... He had known that dragon and rider shared a connection, but to have it confirmed as something so profound? It was both wondrous and terrifying.
[But that’s not even the most surprising part,] Aether continued, her voice laced with curiosity. [Caraxes blocked me from viewing certain memories. He deliberately hid them from me.]
That, more than anything, made Jon pause. Dragons were ancient, powerful, and intelligent in ways humans barely understood. But for Caraxes to consciously restrict access to his memories? That implied awareness far beyond even what Jon had expected.
Jon exhaled slowly. "With every new morning, I learn that this world holds more than meets the eye." He let his thoughts settle before speaking again. "Aether, I trust you’re already looking into more information on bonds—and on Caraxes himself?"
[I’m already on it, Master,] Aether confirmed in her usual blank tone.
Jon let his eyes drift closed, exhaustion finally creeping in. But before sleep claimed him, another thought took root in his mind.
"Aether, I think it’s time we expand our focus beyond rituals. After speaking with Bran, I’ve been considering delving into potion-making."
[I only have knowledge and information about rituals,] Aether admitted. [But we could approach potion-making through trial and error.]
Jon smirked faintly, even as sleep finally tugged at him. "Then we’ll begin experimenting soon."
And with that, he let the darkness take him.
——————————————————————————
*Jon Snow POV*
I stood over the railing, gazing down at the courtyard as servants bustled about and armored men went about their duties. It had been a week and a half since I performed the ritual enhancing my bloodline abilities. Aether had warned me that it would take time for the magic of both my bloodlines to manifest. She was right. Over the past week, my warging abilities had strengthened to an astonishing degree—I could now warg into the entire wolf pack Ghost led, controlling them with ease.
But it wasn’t just warging. Dreams had begun to haunt me these last few nights. At first, I dismissed them as fragments of my imagination, mere echoes of my thoughts. That changed the moment I saw the grey-haired man arriving at Winterfell alongside Lord Reed and those we had presumed dead at the Twins. I had seen this very man in my dreams, standing beside me, though his face had remained obscured. His arrival confirmed what I had suspected—my Targaryen blood carried more than just dragons. It carried dreams. Yet, oddly enough, this had been the only prophetic vision I had received in the past week.
"It is time, Your Grace. They have all assembled in the Great Hall," came a voice beside me. I turned to see Ser Davos standing there, his hands clasped behind his back. I gave him a nod before stepping away from the railing and heading toward the hall, with the Onion Knight following closely behind.
"Do you think my reign as king ends today, Ser Davos?" I asked, a small smile playing on my lips. Davos mirrored my expression, amused by my nonchalance.
After a moment’s pause, he finally spoke. "The North is quite different from the South, Your Grace, as I have come to learn in my short time here. If they did not deem you just and worthy, they would never have crowned you in the first place."
His words would have been reassuring if he had known what was about to unfold.
As we entered the Great Hall, Davos gave me a reassuring nod before taking his place among the gathered lords. I strode toward the high table where the Starks sat, their faces cold and unreadable. Along the way, I felt the weight of curious and uncertain gazes upon me—no doubt drawn to the sword at my side. Though Dark Sister was not as renowned as Blackfyre, it was still a legendary blade, and those who knew its hilt would recognize it.
Sansa’s voice rang through the hall, quiet yet firm. "Since nearly all the lords and masters of the North are here, I believe we should begin by reaffirming our fealty to the King. Other matters can follow."
A murmur spread through the room as the gathered lords exchanged glances, uncertainty flickering in their eyes. Then, Maege Mormont rose to her feet, and a hushed shock rippled through the hall at the sight of her alive. Lord Reed and his company had arrived mere hours ago, and while some had seen them enter Winterfell, others had yet to be informed.
"I bear a decree entrusted to me by King Robb himself, one that Master Glover and I were charged with delivering to every Northern lord. Do I have your leave, my King?" she asked, her gaze locked onto mine.
I nodded, fully aware of what was coming.
She unrolled a parchment bearing the direwolf seal, and all eyes were drawn to it as she read aloud:
"By my word as King of the North, let it be known to all lords and vassals of these lands:
With my sisters, Sansa and Arya Stark, held in the clutches of our enemies, and my brothers, Bran and Rickon Stark, slain by the treachery of Theon Greyjoy, the line of House Stark grows perilously thin.
Thus, I, Robb of House Stark, King in the North, do hereby decree:
First, my brother, Jon Snow, is freed from his oaths to the Night’s Watch, for no man should be bound by duty when his family and his people have need of him.
Henceforth, Jon Snow shall be known as Jon Stark, my trueborn brother and rightful heir to Winterfell and the North. Let no man call him a bastard, nor question his claim..."
As she finished listing the names of those who had witnessed Robb’s decree—most of whom were now dead—an uneasy silence settled over the hall.
Then, Lady Lyessa Flint of Widow’s Watch broke it. "Would King Robb have still named his half-brother as heir if he had known that his trueborn brothers were alive? That Lady Sansa had safely returned to the North, beyond the grasp of the golden-haired cunts in the South?"
Murmurs erupted once more as the lords debated amongst themselves.
"I have heard of how you reclaimed Winterfell from the Boltons, King Jon. If nothing else, it proves King Robb was not wrong in naming you his heir," Lady Mormont declared, moving to kneel before me.
But I stopped her.
"Wait, Lady Mormont."
Confusion flickered across her face as all eyes turned to me. I swept my gaze across the room until I found Howland Reed, standing at the far end of the table, staring at me like he was seeing a ghost.
"Before you kneel and crown me king, I believe it is time you all knew the truth of my parentage."
The murmurs intensified as anticipation and bewilderment rippled through the gathered lords. To them, I was about to reveal the name of Ned Stark’s supposed lover—the woman they assumed had birthed his bastard.
"Jon, I don’t think this is the time or place…" Sansa whispered urgently beside me.
I met her gaze and whispered back, "Trust me." Reluctantly, she leaned back into her seat.
"I could have hidden the truth and accepted the crown as Jon Stark. Neither Bran nor Rickon would have opposed me. And the secret Eddard Stark took to his grave would have remained buried. But I was raised here, in the North—a land of hard people, where honor and honesty are valued over treachery and deceit, unlike the South."
A chorus of "Aye" rang out in the hall as many lords nodded in approval.
"I will not sugarcoat my words. I have recently learned that I am not the son of Eddard Stark. Though Stark blood flows in my veins, it comes from another child of Rickard Stark."
Chaos erupted. Lords shouted over one another, some calling me mad, others blaming the Free Folk, with Tormund shifting into a defensive stance. Sansa and Rickon stared at me, their faces etched with confusion and betrayal.
It was Lord Harald Karstark who finally raised his voice over the din. "Then who is your parent, Jon Snow?"
I met his gaze. "I am the son of Lyanna Stark."
Recognition dawned on Maege Mormont’s face as realization set in. I slammed my hand onto the table, the wood cracking under the force. The hall fell silent.
"Before you spiral into more murmurs and whispers, let us ask the one man who was there and whom you all trust—Lord Howland Reed. Step forward."
Every eye turned to the crannogman, who let out a sigh before rising from his seat and making his way toward the high table.
