Dragon Hidden in the Wolf's Shadow - Chapter - 28 (Patreon)

Life at Moat Cailin was a world away from the cold, quiet days in Winterfell for the Stark siblings. The great, sprawling castle, fortified and formidable, was no longer the decaying ruin it had been during the wars of the past. Under Jon Frost's rule, it had been transformed into a thriving fortress, a center of northern strength, and a growing hub for commerce. It wasn't just a place of war anymore—it was a city, its vast walls housing nearly 2,000 people. These were builders, laborers, soldiers, and servants, all working together to expand Moat Cailin and the nearby growing city of Frostmore, where nearly 20,000 people now lived.

The scale of the place was overwhelming, even for the Stark children who had grown up in Winterfell, the seat of northern power. Moat Cailin had become a bustling heart of activity, and for Arya, Sansa, Bran, and even young Rickon, it was a thrilling, exhilarating experience.

Arya, of course, loved it the most. Moat Cailin was not just a castle to her—it was an adventure. With its high towers, secret passageways, and endless nooks and crannies to explore, Arya had never felt more free. She spent her days with the children of the soldiers, racing through the winding streets and halls, climbing the half-constructed towers, and causing no end of mischief.

"You can't catch me!" Arya's voice echoed through the lower courtyards as she darted between soldiers, her brown hair flying behind her. Her boots kicked up clouds of dust as she nimbly dodged the swinging arms of her pursuers—three boys from one of the southern regiments, all sons of men who had come to serve Jon Frost.

"We will, Arya!" one of the boys, a tall lad named Jory, yelled back, but he was already panting from the effort of keeping up with her. Arya had the advantage—she knew Moat Cailin’s every twist and turn, every corner and hiding spot. She ducked under a wooden beam, clambered up a pile of bricks, and was off again, disappearing into the shadows of an unfinished tower.

The gang of children Arya had joined were as wild and adventurous as she was, and together they had made Moat Cailin their playground. Whether they were sneaking into restricted areas, playing pranks on the builders, or exploring the wetlands that surrounded the fortress, Arya was always at the center of their escapades.

Her favorite activity, however, was going on hunting expeditions with the older boys. Jon, seeing her enthusiasm, had even allowed her to join the hunts that took place in the swamps and forests surrounding Moat Cailin. They would venture out into the wilds, hunting deer, boar, and—most thrilling of all—crocodiles. The swamps were full of the massive, scaly beasts, and Arya had been fascinated by them from the first moment she had seen one.

“They’re like dragons, but real,” she had whispered to Bran after her first crocodile hunt. Her face had been flushed with excitement, her eyes wide. “We cornered one in the water, and Jon killed it with a spear—just like a knight in the stories!”

Bran, too, had found Moat Cailin to be a wonderland of exploration. Unlike Arya, who sought out danger and excitement, Bran was captivated by the sheer vastness of the place. He had spent days exploring the castle, but no matter how much he saw, there was always something new to discover. Every time he thought he had found the farthest tower or the deepest cellar, there would be another door, another hidden stairway leading somewhere he hadn’t been.

“It's like a maze,” Bran told Samwell Tarly one afternoon as they walked along the battlements. Sam had joined Jon and the Stark children on this trip to Moat Cailin and was quickly becoming Bran’s favorite person to talk to. “You could spend years here and still not see everything.”

Sam smiled, though he was clearly winded from climbing the stairs. “It’s an ancient place, built long ago by the First Men. There are probably more secrets hidden in these walls than any of us could guess.”

Bran’s eyes sparkled. “I want to find them all.”

Sansa, meanwhile, had taken to Moat Cailin and Frostmore in her own way. While Arya reveled in the chaos and freedom of the place, Sansa found joy in the finer things the growing city had to offer. Frostmore had become a center of trade, drawing merchants from across Westeros and even Essos, and the markets were full of exotic goods. Fabrics of every kind were sold by southern traders—silks from Lys, velvet from Volantis, and the finest wools from the Vale. Sansa could spend hours wandering the stalls, marveling at the beautiful clothes and imagining herself wearing them to grand feasts and balls.

She had also found something she hadn’t expected in Frostmore—music. The city had attracted musicians from all over the world, and Sansa had begun learning to play several new instruments, her favorite being a harp she had purchased from a traveling minstrel.

At night, in the grand hall of Moat Cailin, Sansa would play her harp for the assembled guests. Her soft melodies filled the stone walls with music, and even Arya, who usually had little patience for such things, would sit quietly and listen.

“I never thought I’d like a place like this,” Sansa admitted one evening as she and Jon sat together, watching the stars from one of the higher towers. “But there’s something about it... something grand. It’s like everything is growing here—like it’s alive.”

Jon smiled at her words. “That’s because it is. Moat Cailin isn’t just a fortress anymore. It’s a place where people can live and thrive. You see it in Frostmore—the city is growing every day.”

Sansa nodded. “And the Harvest Festival… I’ve heard people talking about it. They say it’s going to be the biggest celebration in Westeros.”

“It will be,” Jon said. “People are coming from all over the North, and even from the South and Essos. It’s a time to celebrate the land, the crops, and the people who make it all possible. When father arrives, he’ll see how much the North has changed.”

The Harvest Festival was already the talk of Moat Cailin and Frostmore. For weeks, preparations had been underway. Workers had been building grandstands, setting up stalls, and preparing the castle and city for the influx of visitors. There would be competitions—archery, sword-fighting, and even wrestling. There would be feasts and music, dancing and storytelling. And there would be people—thousands of people—flooding into Moat Cailin to take part in the festivities.

The Stark children knew that their father, Eddard Stark, would be arriving in three moons to preside over the festival, and they were determined to make the most of their time at Moat Cailin before they had to return to Winterfell.

“Do you think father will let us stay longer?” Arya asked one evening as they sat by the fire in Jon’s quarters. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her eyes fixed on the flames. “I don’t want to go back to Winterfell. I want to stay here.”

Jon chuckled. “You know father. He’ll want you back at Winterfell once the festival is over.”

Arya frowned. “But why? There’s nothing to do at Winterfell. Not like here.”

“There’s plenty to do at Winterfell,” Sansa interjected from where she was seated by the window, her harp resting on her lap. “You just don’t like doing any of it.”

Arya made a face. “Sewing and singing and dancing—that’s not fun.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “It is if you do it right.”

Jon leaned back in his chair, watching his sisters with amusement. “You’ll be back at Winterfell before you know it. But enjoy your time here while you can. The festival is going to be something special.”

Arya’s eyes lit up at the mention of the festival. “I can’t wait! Do you think there will be a sword-fighting competition?”

“There will be,” Jon confirmed. “And archery, too.”

“I’m going to enter!” Arya declared. “I’m going to win the sword-fighting competition.”

Sansa raised an eyebrow. “You? Win a sword-fighting competition?”

Arya scowled. “I’m good with a sword. Jon taught me.”

Jon chuckled. “You are good, Arya. But you’ll be going up against trained knights.”

Arya’s scowl deepened. “I can beat them.”

Jon smiled but said nothing. He admired Arya’s determination, even if she sometimes overestimated her abilities. Still, there was something about her spirit that made him believe she could accomplish anything she set her mind to.

As the days passed and the festival drew nearer, the excitement in Moat Cailin and Frostmore grew. More travelers and merchants arrived each day, setting up tents and stalls along the roads leading to the city. The air was filled with the smell of roasting meats, fresh bread, and exotic spices from far-off lands. Musicians played in the streets, their songs mixing with the laughter and chatter of the growing crowds.

Bran spent his days exploring the castle and the surrounding lands, always discovering something new. He had become fascinated by the history of Moat Cailin, and Samwell Tarly, ever eager to share his knowledge, had been more than happy to indulge him.

"Moat Cailin has stood for thousands of years," Sam told Bran one afternoon as they wandered through the moss-covered ruins of the older parts of the fortress. "It was built by the First Men to guard the North from invaders. In the wars between the North and the South, it was the key to holding the North. They say no army has ever passed through Moat Cailin when it was fully manned."

Bran listened intently, his eyes wide with awe. He could feel the weight of history around him, as if the stones themselves whispered the stories of ancient battles and forgotten heroes. He imagined the First Men, strong and proud, standing atop the walls of Moat Cailin, watching for the approach of southern armies.

"Do you think there are still secrets hidden here?" Bran asked, his voice hushed as if afraid the castle might hear him.

Sam smiled, though his round face looked thoughtful. "I wouldn’t be surprised. Castles like Moat Cailin have many secrets. Hidden tunnels, forgotten vaults... maybe even things that shouldn’t be disturbed."

Bran’s imagination raced. He had already discovered a few hidden passages in the newer parts of the fortress, but the idea that there might be something older, something more mysterious, hidden deep within Moat Cailin thrilled him.

"Maybe we’ll find something during the festival," Bran mused, glancing at Sam. "Something ancient. Something no one else has ever seen."

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re as curious as Jon Snow was when he was your age. Just be careful, Bran. Some things are hidden for a reason."

As the festival approached, Moat Cailin was transformed. The once-quiet courtyards and streets of the fortress were now bustling with activity. Wooden stands were erected for spectators, and the soldiers practiced their drills in preparation for the upcoming competitions. Visitors from all over Westeros began arriving, bringing with them the sounds and smells of far-off places.

Sansa, who had quickly become accustomed to the comforts of Moat Cailin, found herself enthralled by the arrival of so many new faces. The fabrics she had admired in Frostmore’s markets paled in comparison to the finely embroidered gowns worn by the noblewomen who came from the South. And the music! Every night, new songs filled the great hall, played on instruments Sansa had never seen before.

She had befriended several young ladies who had come with their families for the festival. They spent their days in the open-air markets of Frostmore, browsing the latest fashions and gossiping about the knights and lords who would be competing in the tournaments.

“I hear that Ser Jaremy Tallhart is to compete in the jousting,” said one of the girls, a pale, freckled daughter of a minor lord from the North.

"They say he’s undefeated in the North.”Sansa listened with interest, though jousting had never held the same allure for her as it did for some of the other girls. Her thoughts drifted instead to her family, and she wondered what her father would think of Moat Cailin when he arrived for the festival. Would he be impressed by the changes Jon Frost had brought? Or would he see the growing city of Frostmore as a threat to the quiet, steadfast nature of the North?

“I wonder if we’ll meet any knights from the South,” another girl mused, her voice full of hope. “The Northmen are fine enough, but there’s something about a knight from King’s Landing, isn’t there? So gallant, so... romantic.”

Sansa smiled politely, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She didn’t care much for romance, not anymore. Her time at Winterfell, and the growing weight of responsibility she felt as the eldest Stark daughter, had tempered her youthful dreams of knights and fairytales. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a small thrill at the idea of meeting someone new, someone who might bring a bit of the wider world into her life.

Arya, on the other hand, could not have cared less about the knights or the ladies in their fine gowns. The festival meant one thing to her: competition.

For weeks, she had been practicing her swordsmanship with Jon and some of the older boys, honing her skills in preparation for the festival. There would be a sword-fighting competition, and Arya was determined to enter.

"You’re too young," Jon had told her, though not unkindly. "The competition is for grown men, Arya. Knights, lords... they won’t let you enter."

"I don’t care," Arya had replied, her chin jutting out stubbornly. "I’m as good as any of them. Better, even."

Jon had smiled, ruffling her hair. "You might be, but rules are rules."

That didn’t stop Arya from practicing every day, sparring with the boys in the training yard until her arms ached and her muscles burned. She had grown stronger during her time at Moat Cailin, her quick reflexes and fearless attitude earning her the respect of the older boys who had once doubted her abilities.

"You’re getting good, Arya," Jory had admitted one day after she had knocked him down in a mock fight. "But don’t get too cocky. You’re still not a knight."

Arya had grinned, helping him to his feet. "Maybe not, but I’m getting there."

The days leading up to the festival were filled with excitement, anticipation, and a touch of sadness. The Stark children knew that after the festival, their time at Moat Cailin would come to an end. They would return to Winterfell, and the bustling, adventurous life they had grown to love would be left behind.

But for now, they were determined to make the most of every moment.

Bran continued his explorations, seeking out every hidden passage and forgotten corner of the ancient fortress. Sansa immersed herself in the social whirl of the festival preparations, enjoying the company of new friends and the beauty of Frostmor’s markets. And Arya, ever restless, threw herself into her training, determined to prove herself in the competitions, whether she was allowed to enter or not.

As the day of the Harvest Festival approached, the air in Moat Cailin buzzed with energy. The Stark children stood at the heart of it all, each of them experiencing the festival in their own way. And though they knew their father’s arrival would mark the beginning of the end of their time at Moat Cailin, they were ready to face whatever challenges—and adventures—awaited them next.