Dragon Hidden in the Wolf's Shadow - Chapter - 7 (Patreon)

Winterfell's Harvest Festival was a grand affair, a time when the Northern lords and their entourages converged upon the ancient stronghold to celebrate the season's bounty. The festival was not only a display of agricultural success but also an opportunity for the lords to pay their due taxes to the Warden of the North, solidify alliances, and mingle with their peers. Heirs and spares from across the North arrived, each bringing their families, servants, and retinues to partake in the festivities.

Jon Snow observed the arrival of the northern lords from a distance, standing on the balcony of the Winterfell library. His eyes followed the procession of carriages and horses as they made their way through the gates of Winterfell, each entourage more resplendent than the last. The festival was a spectacle of colors and sounds, with banners fluttering in the cold breeze and the distant strains of music from the great hall. Jon, however, was content to remain away from the throngs of guests and festivities. His preference was to spend his time hunting in the surrounding woods or buried in the library's vast collection of books.

As was customary, the festival brought with it a flurry of activity and competition. The training yard was abuzz with the noble children—heirs and their spares—engaged in friendly sparring matches. Jon made it a point to avoid these displays, as he did not want to overshadow Robb, who was the heir to Winterfell. Robb, being the eldest of the Stark children, had always been the center of attention, and Jon's presence in the training yard would only serve to diminish his brother's accomplishments.

Jon's decision to stay away from the training yard was driven by his desire to protect Robb's reputation. He had seen firsthand how the noble families of the North viewed him—less as an equal and more as a curiosity. Despite his own prowess in combat and hunting, Jon knew that his presence could potentially cast Robb in a poor light. Thus, he chose to keep to the shadows, focusing on his personal pursuits.

The annual festival was also a time when the northern lords would make their opinions known, often with sharp tongues and less-than-kind remarks. Jon had overheard whispers and seen sneers directed his way, with many nobles dismissing him as nothing more than a bastard who would eventually retreat into the scholarly life of a maester. Each slight and insult stung deeply, fueling a quiet rage within Jon that he struggled to contain.

One particular day, as Jon was making his way to the library, he overheard a group of lords discussing him with barely concealed contempt. Their laughter and jibes were aimed at his lineage and his choice to remain away from the festivities.

"Did you hear? The bastard Snow is spending his time reading again," one lord said, his voice dripping with derision.

"Perhaps he'll become a maester, then. At least he'll be good for something," another added with a dismissive chuckle.

Jon clenched his fists, the anger boiling within him. It took every ounce of restraint not to confront them directly, to avoid giving them the satisfaction of a public altercation. Instead, he took refuge in the library, immersing himself in books to soothe his frayed nerves.

As the festival progressed, Jon found solace in his routine of hunting and reading. Yet, the escalating insults and the growing curiosity from the noble guests began to weigh heavily on him. The more remarkable Jon's achievements became—whether it was his skill in the training yard or his success as a hunter—the more intense the scrutiny and disdain from the northern lords. Their persistent attempts to draw him into their games or to belittle him only served to fuel his inner turmoil.

Catelyn Stark, ever vigilant and often accompanied by her loyal septa, seemed determined to make Jon's life as uncomfortable as possible. The septa, a devoted woman of the Seven, was a frequent presence in Winterfell and was known for her strict adherence to the Faith of the Seven. She and Catelyn shared a common disdain for Jon, and their contempt was evident in the way they treated him.

Catelyn, with her sharp tongue, would often make pointed remarks or offer insincere praise, her words laced with subtle barbs intended to undermine him. The septa, too, contributed to the atmosphere of hostility. Her presence was a constant reminder of the religious and social expectations that Jon could never fully meet, further isolating him from the world around him.

Jon's frustration reached a boiling point one evening when he overheard Catelyn and the septa speaking about him in the hall. They were discussing his growing reputation as a formidable hunter and skilled warrior, but their words were dripping with sarcasm and contempt.

"Can you believe it?" Catelyn said, her tone laced with mockery. "The bastard Snow thinks he's the next great warrior."

"I hear he's quite the hunter too," the septa added, her voice tinged with disdain. "Though I suppose it's to be expected when one has nothing better to do than practice."

Jon's anger flared. The constant derision and undermining had become unbearable. His mind raced with thoughts of how he might reclaim some semblance of control and dignity. He had always been fascinated by fire—a fascination that had, until now, remained a harmless interest. But in that moment, an idea took hold, one that promised a measure of cathartic release.

The next night, as the festival revelries continued, Jon slipped away from the festivities under the cover of darkness. He made his way to the old sept—a temple dedicated to the Faith of the Seven. This building, which had been erected by Eddard Stark for Catelyn's spiritual comfort, had long been a symbol of his mother's disdain for him. The sept, with its solemnity and piety, represented the religious ideals that Jon felt excluded from.

Jon approached the sept with a determined resolve. He carried a torch, the flame flickering in the cold night air. The sensation of the heat from the torch was oddly comforting, a stark contrast to the chill that permeated the Northern night. He carefully set the torch to the dry wood of the sept, watching as the flames began to consume the structure.

The fire grew quickly, its light casting eerie shadows across the surrounding area. Jon stood before the blaze, his face illuminated by the flickering flames. There was a sense of grim satisfaction in watching the sept burn. The fire crackled and roared, consuming the remnants of what had once been a symbol of his bane of existence.

As the fire raged, Jon's thoughts were a maelstrom of emotion. He felt a twisted sense of liberation, a release from the constant pressure and disdain he had endured. The fire, in its own way, represented a form of justice—a cleansing of the bitterness and resentment he felt towards those who had belittled him.

The warmth of the fire, combined with the satisfaction of watching the sept burn, was intoxicating. Jon's fascination with fire, which had always been a quiet obsession, found a new outlet in the destruction before him. The flames danced and roared, and Jon watched with a mixture of awe and relief.

As the sept finally collapsed into a smoldering heap, Jon extinguished the torch and retreated into the darkness, leaving behind the remnants of his frustration and anger. The fire had served its purpose, offering a momentary reprieve from the insults and scorn that had plagued him.

The sept's towering inferno was visible from nearly every corner of Winterfell. As the flames roared higher, casting a hellish glow across the courtyard, it drew the attention of nobles, servants, and guards alike. The once-pristine structure was now a raging beacon of destruction, and Jon Snow was caught directly in the act.

Jon stood amidst the chaos, seemingly indifferent to the flames engulfing the sacred building. When the guards arrived, their faces pale and eyes wide with shock, Jon made no attempt to flee. The guards quickly apprehended him, their expressions a mix of disbelief and concern. Though Jon's face remained calm, his inner turmoil was palpable.

The process of justice in the North was unyielding. It did not matter if one was a child or an adult; any crime committed was met with a formal trial. Jon was escorted back to his quarters, two guards assigned to watch over him. The guards, who had always held a certain fondness for Jon, scolded him with a mixture of disappointment and frustration.

"Why did you do it, Jon?" one of the guards asked, shaking his head as he looked at the boy. "What drove you to such madness?"

Jon's gaze was distant as he replied, "I wanted to feel something different. I was angry, and I thought this would help."

The guard sighed, unable to offer more than a sympathetic pat on Jon's shoulder. The reality of the situation was stark. Jon had committed a grave offense, and the consequences would be severe. With a final look of regret, the guards settled into their posts outside Jon's locked room, their duties now a solemn reminder of the day's events.

Inside his room, Jon paced back and forth, his mind racing with the gravity of his actions. The fire had been a reckless expression of his frustration, and now the weight of that decision was sinking in. He could hear the distant murmur of voices and the occasional shout as people reacted to the blaze. The thought of facing a formal trial, surrounded by the high lords of the North, filled him with a sense of dread.

The next morning, the situation grew more serious. Catelyn Stark, seeing an opportunity to rid herself of Jon once and for all, had seized the moment. She called upon the major northern lords to convene, intending to present Jon's case as a matter of public concern. Her plan was clear: by involving the lords, she hoped to ensure that Jon's punishment would be severe and unquestionable.

Eddard Stark, upon learning of the gathering, felt a deep sense of unease. The great hall of Winterfell was soon filled with the lords who had come for the Harvest Festival. The sight of so many high-ranking figures assembled so early in the day was unusual, and Eddard quickly realized that the matter at hand was of significant importance.

Jon, still under guard, was brought to the hall. His face was stoic, but the gravity of the situation was evident in his eyes. As he entered the hall, the murmur of conversation among the lords grew louder. They turned their attention toward him, their expressions a mix of curiosity and judgment.

Catelyn stood at the forefront, her expression one of determined composure. She had ensured that this trial would be conducted with a sense of impartiality, seeking to strip any personal bias from the proceedings. Her intention was to present Jon's actions as a serious offense that demanded a fitting punishment.

Eddard, though deeply troubled, took his place at the head of the hall. His heart ached as he saw Jon, his son, standing before the assembled lords. He knew that this trial would determine Jon's fate and that the decision made here would have lasting consequences.

The room was filled with an uneasy tension as the lords awaited the proceedings. Jon was called forward, his movements measured and deliberate. The lords' eyes were fixed on him, each one silently weighing the gravity of his crime and the appropriate response.

Catelyn began to speak, her voice carrying the weight of authority. "My lords," she addressed the assembly, "we are gathered here to address a grave offense. Jon Snow, the son of Eddard Stark, has committed a serious crime—he has burned down the sept, a sacred place of worship."

As Catelyn presented the charges, the lords listened intently, their expressions reflecting the seriousness of the situation. Eddard stood by, his heart heavy with the knowledge that the outcome of this meeting would be beyond his control. He could see the determination in Catelyn's eyes and knew that her goal was to ensure that Jon faced a punishment that would be deemed fair and just by all.

The atmosphere in the hall was charged with anticipation as the lords prepared to question Jon about his motives and actions. The sight of Jon, standing alone before them, underscored the gravity of the situation. The trial was about to begin, and Jon's fate would soon be determined by the collective judgment of the northern lords.

Jon Snow stood at the threshold of the Great Hall, a place of grandeur and authority in Winterfell. The hall, normally a beacon of Northern pride and hospitality, was now heavy with a foreboding silence. The warmth of the hearths did little to chase away the chill that had settled over the room. Jon's heart pounded as he was escorted inside by two stern-faced guards.

His eyes swept over the assembly of Northern lords, each a key figure in the North's vast network of power and influence. At the high table, Catelyn Stark's expression was one of cold satisfaction. Her eyes flickered with a hint of triumph as she took in Jon's arrival. Her gaze was unwavering, and Jon could sense the satisfaction she derived from the unfolding drama. Beside her, Eddard Stark looked grave, his face a mixture of concern and sorrow. He had not anticipated that his son would be subjected to such scrutiny and judgment.

Jon's gaze met his father's, and he could see the silent plea for understanding in Eddard's eyes. Eddard had always been a figure of calm authority, but now he seemed powerless, caught between his duty as Warden of the North and his paternal instincts. Jon took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He had known that his actions would have consequences, but he hadn't expected them to be so severe.

The hall was filled with the murmurs of the assembled lords and ladies, their voices a low hum that seemed to reverberate off the stone walls. Jon's attention was drawn to Lord Roose Bolton, who was sitting at the high table with an air of detached curiosity. Lord Bolton's reputation for cruelty was well known, and Jon could sense that he was eager to witness the unfolding drama.

As Jon was led to a designated spot in front of the council of great lords, he noticed the uneasy looks exchanged among the northern nobles. They were here not just to witness the trial but to partake in a ritual that would determine Jon's fate. Jon had expected to face judgment from his father alone, but now he understood that this was a larger, more political affair.

Lord Glover, a man of stout build and serious demeanor, addressed Jon with a piercing gaze. "So, Jon Snow, why did you burn down the Sept?" His voice was steady, but there was an edge of curiosity and concern. The question was straightforward, but it carried the weight of Jon's actions and their implications for the North.

Jon took a moment to compose himself. The weight of the lords' gaze felt like a physical burden, pressing down on him. He knew that he had to be careful with his words. He couldn't afford to be reckless or emotional. Instead, he needed to present himself as someone worthy of respect, despite the gravity of his actions.

"I did not burn down the Sept for mere destruction," Jon began, his voice clear and deliberate. "I did it because I am deeply concerned about the direction we are heading. When Theon Stark called his banners to fight against the Andals, what did the old Northerners do? They answered the call and died in the hundreds, defending our lands and our way of life. Their sacrifice was a testament to our strength, but it also reflected our defeat."

Jon's words were met with a murmur of agreement from some of the lords. He could see that his speech was striking a chord with them. The idea of ancestral sacrifice and the pride of the North resonated deeply with the gathered nobles.

"It was a disgrace to the memory of those who came before us," Jon continued. "The sacrifices of our forebears should not be forgotten or diluted by foreign influences. My lord father, Eddard Stark, was raised under the banner of the South and learned their customs. He speaks of honor and other Southern ideals. Yet, it is not honor that has kept the North strong for eight thousand years. It is our resilience, our strength, that has allowed us to survive the harshest winters and the fiercest battles."

Jon's speech was imbued with a fervent energy. His words were not merely a defense of his actions but a passionate declaration of Northern pride. He could see some of the lords nodding in agreement, their stern faces softening as they listened to his impassioned plea.

"I heard people say that Catelyn Stark rules the North, not Eddard Stark and how Tully did what a hundred thousand Andals couldn't" Jon said, turning his gaze towards Catelyn. "They talked about how the Sept in the heart of Winterfell, where once the Winter King ruled, is a symbol of Southern influence encroaching on our traditions. I worried that if future generations of Starks were lured by these Southern ways, they might change our history and weaken the North."

Jon's words were a direct challenge to the changes that had been taking place in Winterfell. He was not merely defending his actions; he was questioning the very foundations of the current leadership and the direction in which the North was heading.

The hall was silent as Jon spoke. The lords were absorbed in his speech, their expressions a mix of contemplation and skepticism. Jon could feel the weight of their judgment pressing down on him, but he remained steadfast. He had chosen to confront them head-on, and now he had to see it through.

"I thought," Jon continued, "that by burning down the Sept, I would make a statement. I wanted to remind everyone of who we are and what we stand for. I wanted to force people to see that the Stark name and the North's strength should not be diluted by the influence of the South."

His words were met with a murmur of approval from some of the lords. Jon could see that his speech had struck a chord with them. His boldness and conviction were qualities they respected, even if they did not entirely agree with his methods.

Lord Roose Bolton's eyes narrowed as he took in Jon's words. "You speak of Northern pride and strength," he said, his voice cold and analytical. "But does your act of destruction truly serve the North? Or does it merely further divide us?"

Jon met Lord Bolton's gaze steadily. "It is not about division," he said firmly. "It is about preserving what we have fought so hard to maintain. The North has always been a place of strength and resilience. If we allow ourselves to be swayed by foreign influences and Southern ideals, we risk losing everything that makes us who we are."

The lords exchanged glances, their expressions thoughtful. Jon's speech had stirred something within them. They saw in him a reflection of the fierce pride and determination that had characterized the North throughout its history.

After some deliberation, the lords reached a consensus. Jon Snow's actions had been extreme, but his intentions were understood. The punishment they decided upon was exile from Winterfell for three years. While this might seem harsh, it was, in reality, a strategic move. The lords saw Jon as a potential asset, a figure who could embody the Northern spirit and strengthen their alliances.

The Mormont family, known for their own strong traditions and connections, agreed to take Jon in for the next three years. This arrangement allowed Jon to forge relationships with other prominent families and to grow into the role they envisioned for him. It was a diplomatic solution that served both Jon and the Northern lords.

As Jon was led away from the hall, he felt a mixture of relief and uncertainty. The trial had not ended in the harshest of punishments, but his future was still uncertain. He would leave Winterfell and the life he had known, embarking on a new chapter under the watchful eyes of the Mormonts.

The decision was a turning point for Jon Snow. It was not just a consequence of his actions but a chance for him to prove himself and to align himself with the North's traditions and values.