Dragon Hidden in the Wolf's Shadow - Chapter - 10 (Patreon)

The Great Hall of Mormont Keep was alive with the sounds of victory. Torches crackled in their sconces, casting warm light across the stone walls adorned with banners of House Mormont. The bear sigil loomed large over the gathered crowd, a silent testament to the strength and resilience of the people who called Bear Island home. Tonight, that strength had been tested—and proven—against the Ironborn.

At the long tables that filled the hall, men and women feasted with abandon. Roasted boar, venison, and fresh-caught fish were piled high on platters, and jugs of ale and wine were passed freely from hand to hand. The clatter of knives and forks mingled with the sound of laughter and the occasional burst of song. For now, the horrors of battle were forgotten, replaced by the simple joy of being alive.

Jon Snow sat quietly at the far end of the table, nursing a goblet of watered wine. At just eight years old, he was smaller than most of the warriors who surrounded him, but no one could deny that he had earned his place at the table tonight. His dark eyes flicked around the room, watching as the men and women of Bear Island celebrated their victory. He felt a dull ache in his chest where the Ironborn's blade had cut him, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the sense of pride that welled up inside him.

The battle had been fierce, and Jon had fought harder than he ever had before. He had trained for years, preparing for the moment when he would face a real enemy, and today, that moment had come. He had killed more than thirty Ironborn with his bow and his axe, moving through the forest like a shadow, striking down his foes with deadly precision. The memory of the battle was still fresh in his mind—the screams of the dying, the smell of blood and sweat, the adrenaline that had surged through his veins as he fought for his life and the lives of his people.

But now, in the warmth of the Great Hall, those memories seemed distant, like something that had happened to someone else. Jon took a sip of his wine, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at his wound. The Maester had sewn it shut, but the pain was still there, a constant reminder of the price of victory.

At the head of the table, Lord Jeor Mormont, the grizzled Lord of Bear Island, stood and raised his goblet. The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him. Jeor was a man of few words, but when he spoke, people listened. His voice, deep and commanding, echoed through the hall as he began to speak.

"Loyal men and women of Bear Island," Jeor said, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. "Tonight, we celebrate a great victory. The Ironborn came to our shores, seeking to take what is ours, but they found only death. We drove them back into the sea, as we have done before, and as we will do again."

There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd, and Jeor paused for a moment, letting the weight of his words sink in. Then he raised his goblet higher.

"But tonight is not just a night for celebration," he continued. "It is also a night for remembrance. We have lost good men and women today—brave souls who gave their lives to defend Bear Island. Let us honor their sacrifice."

Jeor's voice grew solemn as he named the fallen, one by one. Each name was met with a moment of silence, and Jon felt a pang of sadness as he heard the names of those he had known—men and women who had trained him, who had fought beside him. They were gone now, their bodies lying cold and still in the ground, but their memory would live on.

"To the fallen!" Jeor said, raising his goblet once more. "May they rest in peace, knowing that they died with honor."

"To the fallen!" the crowd echoed, and Jon raised his own goblet in a silent toast. The wine tasted bitter on his tongue, but he forced himself to drink it down.

Jeor lowered his goblet and looked around the room, his gaze lingering on each face in turn. "Now," he said, his voice growing stronger, "let us also honor the living. Every one of you fought bravely today, and you have earned this feast. But there is one among us who deserves special recognition."

The room fell silent as Jeor turned his gaze to Jon. The young boy felt a flush of heat rise to his cheeks as the eyes of the entire hall turned toward him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, not used to being the center of attention.

"Jon Snow," Jeor said, his voice carrying across the hall. "You are only eight years old, but today, you fought with the skill and courage of a man grown. You slew more than thirty Ironborn with your bow and your blade, and you did so without fear or hesitation. You have earned a name for yourself today, and from this day forward, you shall be known as the Bloody Wolf."

A cheer went up from the crowd, and Jon felt a mix of pride and embarrassment. The name felt strange to him, but it was also a badge of honor—a recognition of what he had accomplished. He nodded his thanks to Jeor, his heart pounding in his chest.

Jeor smiled and raised his goblet in a toast. "To the Bloody Wolf!" he shouted.

"To the Bloody Wolf!" the crowd echoed, and Jon couldn't help but smile as he raised his own goblet once more.

The cheers and toasts continued for several minutes, and Jon found himself surrounded by men and women congratulating him on his bravery. He accepted their praise with a quiet nod or a word of thanks, but inside, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The battle had been necessary, and he had done what needed to be done, but the violence had left a mark on him—a dark shadow that lingered in the corners of his mind.

As the celebrations continued, Jeor Mormont called for silence once more. The hall quieted, and all eyes turned to the lord of Bear Island as he reached behind him and pulled out a sword wrapped in a fine cloth.

"There is one more thing I wish to share tonight," Jeor said, his voice serious. He carefully unwrapped the cloth, revealing the blade within. The sword was long and slender, its dark metal gleaming in the firelight. The intricate pattern of the Valyrian steel was mesmerizing, and the room fell into a hushed awe as everyone recognized what it was.

"This sword," Jeor began, "was found among the dead after the battle. It is a Valyrian steel sword, forged long ago and once belonging to House Reyne of the Westerlands."

A murmur of surprise and admiration rippled through the crowd. Valyrian steel was rare and precious, a relic of the old world that few men possessed. To hold such a weapon was to wield power and history in equal measure.

Jeor continued, his voice steady. "The Ironborn House Drumm claimed this sword long before the Reynes were extinguished by the Lannisters. But by their own tradition, this sword now belongs to the one who paid the iron price for it—Jon Snow, the Bloody Wolf."

The room was silent as Jeor stepped forward, holding the sword out to Jon. The young boy stared at the blade in awe, unable to believe that such a weapon could belong to him. He had read about Valyrian steel in the dusty old books in Winterfell's library, but he had never imagined he would hold such a sword in his hands, let alone own one.

With trembling hands, Jon reached out and took the sword. The hilt was cool and smooth, fitting perfectly into his grip. As he lifted it, the blade felt lighter than he had expected, yet he could sense the deadly sharpness in its edge. He raised the sword high above his head, the firelight glinting off the dark metal, and a cheer erupted from the crowd.

Jon's heart swelled with pride as he looked around at the smiling faces of the men and women who had fought beside him. This sword was more than just a weapon—it was a symbol of his victory, a testament to the strength and skill he had shown in battle.

"Thank you, my lord," Jon said quietly, his voice barely audible over the cheers. He lowered the sword and looked down at it, marveling at the intricate patterns that seemed to dance along the blade. This was his sword now, a weapon that would serve him in battles to come.

But even as he reveled in the moment, Jon couldn't shake the dark thoughts that lingered at the edges of his mind. Killing the Ironborn hadn't bothered him as much as he thought it might. It had been almost too easy, the arrows finding their marks with practiced precision, the sword strikes feeling natural and fluid. He had killed without hesitation because it was what needed to be done. But there was a part of him—a darker, more sinister part—that wondered what it would be like to kill in a different way.

He had read stories of ancient kings and queens who had burned their enemies alive, using fire to cleanse the world of those who opposed them. The thought of it both fascinated and repelled him. There was something poetic about the idea of fire—an element that could destroy and purify in equal measure. If they had captured one of the Ironborn alive, Jon wasn't sure he would have been able to resist the urge to set the flames upon him, to watch the fiery blaze consume his enemies in a cruel twist of poetic justice. The mere thought unsettled him, even as he tried to push it away. For now, though, he focused on the celebrations, forcing himself to be present in the moment.

As the night wore on, the feast continued with raucous laughter and lively conversations. The men and women of Bear Island mingled freely, recounting their personal tales of the battle and sharing jokes that had them clutching their sides with mirth. The atmosphere was light and festive, a stark contrast to the grim reality of the day's events.

Jon's wound, though stitched and tended to by the Maester, throbbed with every movement. Despite this, he remained active, engaging with those around him. The pain was a constant reminder of the day's violence, but it also fueled a sense of accomplishment. Each cheer, each toast made in his honor, seemed to diminish the sting of the injury. He was a hero tonight, and that reality provided a soothing balm to his weary soul.

The day began with the usual stillness of Winterfell, the morning sun casting long shadows over the snow-covered grounds. Yet, beneath this tranquil surface, the air was thick with tension. Eddard Stark had received a raven from Bear Island, delivered by a tired and hungry messenger raven. The scroll was sealed with the sigil of House Mormont, a stark reminder of the volatile times.

Eddard unrolled the parchment with a furrowed brow. The message within was grave, detailing an unprovoked attack on the Mormonts by the ironborn, a direct consequence of Balon Greyjoy's rebellion. The words on the parchment described how the ironborn had raided Bear Island, causing significant damage and loss. It was clear from the terse language that the Mormonts were not taking this invasion lightly. But there was more.

Jeor Mormont's letter was not solely about the attack; it also spoke of Jon Snow's recent heroic deeds. The old bear, as the Lord of Bear Island was known, had mentioned Jon's bravery and skills in repelling the ironborn invaders. Jon had been a key figure in defending the Mormont lands, earning respect and admiration from those who had witnessed his courage.

However, it was the mention of Jon possessing a Valyrian steel sword that stirred the deepest discontent within Catelyn Stark. The mention of this ancient and revered weapon—a symbol of Valyrian's storied history—was a painful reminder of the growing power of Jon Snow. Catelyn's resentment had been simmering, and this revelation only fanned the flames. She feared that Jon's rising prominence and the sword's significance would further diminish her own children's standing.

In the great hall of Winterfell, as Eddard and his advisors discussed the gravity of the situation, Catelyn's displeasure was palpable. She had always been wary of Jon's presence and status in the Stark household. The more Jon proved himself, the more her concerns about her children's future grew.

Eddard's reply to the Mormonts was diplomatic but firm. He acknowledged their bravery and assured them that Winterfell would support them in their time of need. However, he also conveyed the harsh reality of the current conflict—King Robert Baratheon was calling upon all the lords to muster their forces. The rebellion of Balon Greyjoy had escalated, with the ironborn burning Lannisport and Greyjoy crowning himself King of the Iron Islands. The message was clear: all lords must send half of their soldiers to Winterfell to regroup and prepare for war.

As the raven was dispatched to Bear Island with the Lord of Winterfell's response, Jon Snow stood apart, his mind troubled. He had been a part of the Mormont defense, and now, with the news of the rebellion and the impending war, his thoughts were consumed by the possibilities of battle and honor.

Jon's desire to join the fight was intense. He had trained hard, honed his skills with the sword, and learned the ways of the North. His heroism on Bear Island had not gone unnoticed, and the Valyrian steel sword was a testament to his growing capabilities. But despite his readiness and eagerness to prove himself, Jon was to remain behind.

Jorah Mormont, the heir of Bear Island and a seasoned warrior, had taken a contingent of 100 men to join the other forces gathering for the rebellion. These were battle-hardened soldiers, a reflection of the strength and resilience of House Mormont. Jon had hoped to accompany them, to stand shoulder to shoulder with his comrades and fight alongside them against the ironborn.

Yet, Jorah Mormont had insisted that Jon remain at Bear Island. The heir's reasoning was pragmatic and strategic. With the Mormont forces away fighting the rebellion, Bear Island needed protection from any potential wildling attacks. Jon's presence was deemed crucial for the island's defense, and despite his reluctance, he understood the necessity of his role.

Jon's internal struggle was evident. He felt a deep-seated need to be part of the action, to fight for his honor and prove himself worthy. The sword he wielded, a gift from Jeor Mormont, was a symbol of trust and responsibility. Jon's pride in possessing such a weapon was overshadowed by his frustration at being left behind.

As the days wore on, the tension at Winterfell increased. The preparations for war were underway, with soldiers and supplies being organized for the campaign against the Greyjoys. Eddard Stark was occupied with the logistical challenges of rallying his vassals and coordinating the defense of the North. The lord's stoic demeanor masked his concern for his children and the safety of his lands.

Catelyn Stark, meanwhile, struggled with her conflicting emotions. Her resentment towards Jon Snow was a bitter undercurrent to her otherwise careful demeanor. She couldn't help but view Jon's growing reputation and achievements as a threat to her own family's future. Her feelings of unease were compounded by the realization that Jon's prowess might outshine her own children's abilities, further complicating the family dynamics at Winterfell.

Jon's thoughts often wandered to his family, his role, and the ongoing conflict. The presence of the Valyrian steel sword reminded him of the weight of his responsibilities. It was not just a weapon; it was a symbol of the trust placed in him by House Mormont. Jon knew that, despite his frustrations, his duty was to protect Bear Island and ensure its safety during these turbulent times.

As the time for the Mormont troops to depart approached, Jon took to the training grounds to practice his skills. He trained with renewed vigor, his movements driven by a combination of duty and determination. His thoughts often turned to the men of Bear Island who were about to face the ironborn. He hoped for their success and prayed for their safe return.

Winterfell's preparations continued in full force, with the people of the North rallying to support their lord. The arrival of the Mormont forces, once they returned from the front, would be a pivotal moment in the conflict. Jon knew that his role in this battle, though indirect, was crucial. Protecting Bear Island and ensuring its security was a responsibility he took seriously.

As the chill of winter settled more deeply over Bear Island, Jon Snow found a sense of purpose and solace in the routine of his daily life. His time was divided between rigorous training sessions, nurturing his relationships with the inhabitants of the island, and caring for his new companion, a harpy eagle he had named Frost.

The training yard became Jon's sanctuary. Each morning, he would rise early, don his practice gear, and immerse himself in the clashing rhythms of combat training. The clang of steel against steel, the shouts of encouragement from the seasoned fighters, and the cold, biting wind were all part of the discipline he embraced. Jon's swordwork had improved remarkably, his technique refined through hours of dedicated practice. The Valyrian steel sword, a symbol of House Mormont's trust, felt natural in his hands, becoming an extension of his will and skill.

After his morning training, Jon often found solace in the company of little Lyanna Mormont and other Mormont girls. Lyanna, despite her tender age, had a fierce spirit reminiscent of her house's storied history. Jon took the time to mentor her, teaching her about the land and the ways of leadership, though his instruction was gentle and filled with encouragement.

Lyanna's fondness for Jon was evident. She often accompanied him during his free moments, her small hand gripping his as they walked through the halls of Bear Island. Her favorite pastime, however, was feeding Frost. The harpy eagle, with its striking white feathers and keen eyes, had grown robust under Jon's care. Its talons were sharp, and its wingspan impressive. Jon had trained Frost to respond to his commands and had nurtured a bond of trust with the bird.

Frost's daily routine was a highlight for Lyanna. She would carry morsels of meat and other treats to the eagle, eagerly presenting them with a look of joy that made Jon smile. Frost, for its part, seemed to thrive on the attention, its sharp eyes following Lyanna's every movement. The bond between the girl and the eagle was endearing; Lyanna's gentle demeanor made her a favorite among the animals, and Frost was no exception.

Life on Bear Island was simple but fulfilling. The smallfolk, who lived in close-knit communities around the island, held Jon in high regard. He made it a point to learn their names and remember their stories, treating them with respect and kindness. His interactions with them were genuine, and his willingness to listen and engage with their concerns earned him their affection and loyalty. Jon's efforts to connect with the people of Bear Island created a sense of unity and camaraderie that was deeply valued by both the common folk and the Mormonts.

Evenings on Bear Island were tranquil, marked by the warmth of the hearth and the camaraderie of the household. Jon would often find himself in the great hall, sharing stories and meals with the Mormont family and their guests. The conversations were filled with tales of past battles and discussions of the future. Jon's presence was a comforting one, his dedication to his duties and his genuine interest in the well-being of others making him a valued member of the community.

As the days passed, Jon's role as protector and mentor became increasingly integral to life on Bear Island. His commitment to the training of the island's defenders, his care for the young ones like Lyanna, and his respect for the smallfolk contributed to a sense of stability amidst the brewing storm of war.

The harmony of life on Bear Island, though tempered by the looming conflict, was a testament to Jon's impact. He had earned the trust and admiration of those around him, and his presence was a source of strength and comfort for many. As he continued to hone his skills and build relationships, Jon prepared himself for the challenges ahead, knowing that his efforts on Bear Island were as crucial as any battle on the front lines.

In the quiet moments, as he observed Frost soaring high above the snowy landscape or listened to Lyanna's enthusiastic chatter, Jon found a measure of peace. His life on Bear Island, though marked by its own set of challenges, was filled with purpose and connection, offering him a sense of fulfillment that would sustain him through the trials to come.