Dragon Hidden in the Wolf's Shadow - Chapter 45 (Patreon)

As the years passed, the North's prosperity became the talk of every court across Westeros. Jon Frost's vision of a self-sufficient and thriving North had blossomed beyond expectations, with bustling trade routes connecting the North to distant lands and a fleet of ships that sailed the Narrow Sea, the Sunset Sea, and even ventured beyond the Shivering Sea to far-flung Essos. The North was no longer just the land of harsh winters and endless snow; it had grown into a formidable force, rich in resources, trade, and military might.

However, not everyone was pleased with the North's sudden rise. While some kingdoms sought alliances with the North, there were others who viewed their growing influence as a threat to their own power and wealth. Among them was Prince Doran Martell, the quiet and calculating ruler of Dorne. Though the Martells had always held a neutral stance when it came to Northern affairs, Doran could not ignore the potential implications of the North’s newfound wealth.

Doran Martell was a man who had spent his entire life playing the long game, moving pieces across the board of Westeros with the precision of a master strategist. He had ambitions of his own, dreams of restoring the strength and independence of Dorne, and the rise of the North threatened to overshadow those aspirations. The Northern trade ships, brimming with timber, furs, grains, and minerals from the vast North, carried wealth into the other kingdoms, and their prosperity only made Dorne’s comparative isolation more glaring.

Determined to halt the North’s rise, Doran began to implement a series of covert operations to disrupt Northern trade. He couldn’t afford a direct confrontation, as that would draw the ire of many houses, and expose his hand too early. Instead, he took a more clandestine route, funding pirate fleets to target Northern trade ships along the coastlines. These pirate captains were well paid and promised additional wealth if they could successfully harass and sink Northern vessels, hoping to stifle their expanding trade routes.

For a brief moment, it seemed as though Doran’s plan might work. A few Northern ships were attacked in the waters near the Stepstones and off the coasts of Dorne. But the North was not blind to these assaults. Jon Frost, having long foreseen the dangers of open sea travel, had ensured that his shipbuilders in White Harbor and Bear Island crafted vessels unlike any other seen in Westeros.

The Northern ships were designed to be faster, sleeker, and more maneuverable, capable of outrunning and outmaneuvering the lumbering pirate galleys. They also had reinforced hulls and were equipped with a series of ingenious long-range ballistae, capable of launching large, iron-tipped bolts that could punch through the wooden frames of enemy ships from afar. Their design took inspiration from the knowledge shared by Howland Reed and the traditions of the First Men, incorporating both ancient wisdom and modern engineering.

Time and again, the pirates, confident in their numbers, tried to close in on the Northern vessels. And time and again, they found themselves outmatched. The Northern sailors, hardened by the freezing waters of the Shivering Sea, fought with a precision and ferocity that the pirates had never encountered before. They learned to coordinate their attacks, using their ballistae to strike from a distance before engaging in swift, close-quarters combat. Every pirate attack ended with Northern victories, and before long, the waters ran red with the blood of their enemies. The shattered remains of pirate ships became a common sight along the coasts, serving as a grim warning to any who would dare challenge the might of the North.

Word spread quickly of these victories, and merchants across Westeros took notice. They began to realize that trading with the North was not only profitable but far safer than other routes, leading to an influx of commerce to the North. This, in turn, led to even greater prosperity, as the North became the central hub of trade, its influence extending far beyond the Wall and deep into the South.

In the vibrant and fertile lands of the Reach, where golden fields stretched endlessly and the sweet scent of blooming flowers filled the air, the affairs of the frozen North seemed like a distant and irrelevant concern. This was especially true for the Lord of Storm’s End, Renly Baratheon, who cared little for the happenings beyond the Neck. To him, the North was a cold and desolate place, inhabited by stubborn and proud folk who had little to offer to the games of power that were played in the more civilized lands of Westeros.

Renly’s focus was not on the shifting power dynamics or the growing prosperity of the North but on matters far closer to his heart and pleasures. The Stormlands, while technically under his rule, were often neglected, with many of their lesser lords left to govern themselves. Instead, Renly spent most of his time basking in the warmth and luxury of Highgarden, where he could indulge in the opulence of the Tyrells' court and enjoy the company of his lover, Ser Loras Tyrell.

The Reach was a world of bright colors, laughter, and music, a stark contrast to the rugged, windswept cliffs of Storm’s End and the somber halls of Winterfell. Here, Renly felt alive, surrounded by courtiers and knights who praised his charm and wit, who fawned over him as if he were a king. The Tyrells, ever keen to secure their influence, ensured that Renly wanted for nothing. Fine wines, exquisite feasts, and endless entertainment awaited him at Highgarden, and it was in this world of rose-scented gardens and sunlit terraces that Renly preferred to stay.

The relationship between Renly and Loras Tyrell was an open secret, whispered about but rarely challenged. In the Reach, it was treated with the sort of amused indulgence that came naturally to a people more interested in beauty and romance than harsh realities. Margaery Tyrell, Loras’s sister, often played the role of the dutiful hostess, ensuring that her brother’s lover was kept entertained and content. It was said that she, too, had ambitions—dreams of crowns and thrones—but for now, she played the obedient sister, using her charm to keep Renly close.

For Renly, Margaery was just a means to an end, a useful tool in his pursuit of power and pleasure. He found her charming, to be sure, with her playful wit and her beauty, but she was not the one who occupied his thoughts. He cared little for the intricacies of politics, for the alliances and betrayals that were whispered about in the dark corners of the court. He was young, handsome, and full of life, and he believed that these qualities alone would be enough to take him wherever he wished to go.

As far as the North was concerned, Renly dismissed any news of their growth and influence. What did it matter if the Stark had made a few clever moves? The North was distant, isolated, and bound by harsh winters. It could never compete with the wealth and power of the Reach, with its fertile lands and the vast army at the disposal of House Tyrell. The Northern ships, the growing trade routes, the whispers of prosperity—none of it seemed relevant to Renly’s world, and so he paid it little heed.

In his eyes, the true players of Westeros were in the South, where the sun shone brightest and the nobility danced to the tune of politics and intrigue. The North, with its wolves and warriors, was nothing more than a quaint reminder of an older, less sophisticated time. And as long as Renly had Loras by his side, and the support of House Tyrell behind him, he saw no reason to concern himself with the Stark bastard’s ambitions or the rumors of Jon Frost’s rising power.

Yet, as he lounged in the gardens of Highgarden, surrounded by laughter and the scent of roses, Renly could not know how deeply the roots of Northern prosperity had grown. Nor could he foresee the winter winds that would one day sweep down from the North, carrying with them the echoes of wolves and the promise of change. In the game of thrones, even those who believe themselves far removed from the fray can find themselves caught in the storm, and Renly’s time would come, just as it would for all who underestimated the strength of the North.


Lord Tywin Lannister stood in his solar, the golden light of sunset bathing him in an ethereal glow as he reread the letter from Winterfell. Eddard Stark’s response was polite yet firm, rejecting the betrothal between his son, Robb Stark, and Princess Myrcella Baratheon. Tywin’s lips tightened into a thin line, his mind already working through the consequences and next steps. He knew the North's growing power was not something to be ignored, and he could not afford to let the Starks drift further from the influence of the South.

The rejection was expected, but it was still a setback. Robb Stark's betrothal to Alys Karstark would only strengthen the bonds between the major Northern houses. It made sense; the Northerners were fiercely protective of their traditions, and the marriage would reinforce that Robb was a true Stark, committed to their ways. But this did little to help Tywin’s plans of binding the North to the royal family, which he saw as a crucial step in ensuring the stability and future loyalty of the Starks.

Tywin had not lived through countless wars and schemes by giving up easily. He moved to the next piece on the chessboard: Jon Frost. The young man had made quite a name for himself, turning a small settlement into a burgeoning city in a matter of years, transforming it into the North's trade hub. Even the Lannisters, with their riches, could appreciate the wealth Jon was bringing to his region through sheer will and determination. It was no wonder that Tywin considered a marriage alliance with Jon Frost, as this would be the next best way to tie the North to the South.

Tywin’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the table as he considered his options. Myrcella might still be an option for Jon, but the boy's bastardy was a delicate issue. Even if legitimized, Jon would always have that shadow over him. However, Tywin saw that as less of an obstacle than the attitude of Queen Cersei, who was utterly opposed to sending her precious daughter to what she called the "frozen wasteland" of the North.

Cersei’s arrogance frustrated him to no end. Her fixation on keeping Myrcella in the South was short-sighted and foolish, but Tywin was no stranger to his daughter’s stubbornness. He had raised her to be strong, to be a queen, but somewhere along the way, she had taken that strength and twisted it into pride and petulance. She failed to see that by rejecting this marriage alliance, she was jeopardizing the very power and influence she so desperately sought to maintain.

Tywin had attempted to reason with her multiple times, explaining that Jon Frost, though a bastard, was now the acknowledged son of the Warden of the North and a respected leader in his own right. His achievements were unparalleled for one so young, and marrying Myrcella to him would cement the Lannister influence in the North. It would ensure that the Starks remained loyal to King Joffrey when he took the throne.

Cersei, however, would hear none of it. “I will not have my daughter exiled to that frozen wasteland, Father!” she had exclaimed. “I do not care how many cities he builds or how many trade routes he opens; the North is a land of wolves and savages.”

King Robert, for his part, was far more pragmatic. “Why not send her there, Tywin? The boy’s proven himself capable, hasn’t he?” Robert had shrugged when Tywin broached the subject. “He’d make a good husband for Myrcella, better than some of the prancing southern lords we’ve got around here.”

But Cersei’s refusal always ended the conversation, and Robert, though king, had long since ceased to battle his wife on issues that did not interest him directly. In private, Tywin could see that the king had lost whatever fire had once burned within him, leaving only a man who was content to drown his days in wine and fleeting pleasures.

Frustrated but unwilling to concede defeat, Tywin began to consider other options. Perhaps Jon Frost could be matched with a suitable Lannister girl instead. While this wouldn’t tie him directly to the royal family, it would still create a bond between House Lannister and the future leadership of the North. The problem was that Tywin’s legacy didn’t hinge on mere alliances with bastards or minor houses; he wanted to secure the Lannisters’ dominance over the Seven Kingdoms for generations to come. Jon Frost marrying a Lannister girl would be an alliance, but it wouldn’t make the North bow to the Iron Throne.

His eyes flickered over the map of Westeros spread out on the table, focusing on the gap between the North and South. In Tywin’s mind, that gap was more than just physical; it was a chasm that would continue to grow unless bridged by blood and marriage. The power the North was amassing was unsettling, and the way it was attracting the loyalty and trade of so many other regions could not be ignored. It was not long before it could threaten the delicate balance of power that held the realm together.

Tywin’s fingers rested on Winterfell’s position on the map, tracing the path of the King's Road. He knew that as long as Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark lived, there would be some semblance of unity between the North and South. But time had a way of eroding such bonds, and when one of them died, Tywin feared that the North would drift away, perhaps even defy the authority of the Iron Throne entirely.

He had worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to let that happen.

There was still time, he reminded himself. Jon Frost was young, and Myrcella was still a girl. Cersei’s defiance could be worn down, and with Robert’s support, Tywin knew he could make the match happen eventually. But until then, he would continue to watch, to maneuver, and to prepare. The North’s prosperity was both a threat and an opportunity, and Tywin Lannister would ensure that, one way or another, the Lannisters would emerge stronger than ever.

With a final glance at the map, Tywin sat down at his desk and began to draft another letter, this time to the Queen, with words chosen carefully to make her understand the importance of what was at stake. He would not give up on the North, and he would not allow anyone, not even his own daughter, to jeopardize the future he had painstakingly crafted for House Lannister.

The game continued, and Tywin Lannister intended to win.