Dragons and Wolves

Jon and Ghost staggered back into Jon’s office, they had run for hours, as fast as their legs could carry them. Jon could hardly stand. But no matter how fast they ran, Jon couldn’t run from his thoughts.

He was so stupid but it’s what he had to do. He had an oath to keep, his family was relying on him. His father had taught him his word and honor were more important than anything. He owed the Night’s Watch.

“Dammit,” He collapsed into his office chair, his head in his hands. What was he going to do?

--
Dany laid in her bed, Rhaego curled up next to her, his scaley head on her breast. She winced, his horns were beginning to grown in and they weren’t exactly comfortable stabbing into her bosom. Nonetheless, she ignored it and pet his scales. She knew he missed Viserion and Drogon terribly, she knew she and Rhaegal were no substitute for his parents.

Maybe it had been stupid to come to Castle Black. What had she been thinking?

After Drogo, loneliness had driven her to take only one other lover, Daario Naharis. And that had ended badly. What had made her think pursuing Jon Snow would be any different?

His honor.

For being a Dothraki, Drogo had had honor too and like Jon he kept his oaths. She was certain it was this similar quality she was drawn to.

Her heart panged, every time she had thought of Daario or Jon she felt like she was betraying her dead husband. She shook the thought away, he would want her to move on. If she had died, she knew he most certainly would have.

She sighed and curled closer into Rhaego.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, she would leave.

She had made one man stray from his path, she had tried to make Drogo and the Dothraki change their ways once. It had resulted in Drogo’s death. She wouldn’t do that to another man. Jon was a crow and she would let him be one.

--

Clawing through the Red Keep had been too easy. Drogon’s massive claws had torn through the red brick like parchment. The soldiers of King’s Landing abandoned their posts, terrified of the two unhindered dragons. With Drogon’s amazing hearing, he was able to hear people pray for Queen Daenerys return, if only to control them.

Once they had torn a hole large enough for Viserion to fit through, the dragoness turn her scaled head to him, “What do you want me to do? Kill everyone?”

“No!” Bran blurted but at her offended look he quickly rephrased, “Please don’t, I humbly ask you to grab two humans. A young, pretty woman with curly blonde hair and a bad scar on her cheek, she will be wearing a burgundy dress. The second will be unconscious, a dark haired man in brown robes, o-one of his fingers will be missing.”

Bran winced thinking about losing his finger.

Viserion puffed smoke out her nose and Bran could only presume it was out of frustration, “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Bran nodded his draconic head and she looked at him strangely before entering the Red Keep. Such human gestures were probably incredibly strange to animals. He usually was the animal, he never really had any interaction with other animals besides inside their heads or with his siblings direwolves.

Viserion had made quick work in the dungeons and emerged with his body and the girl. Bran’s eyes glazed over her, she was either dead or passed out, her burgundy dress stained with blood.

“Does she live?” Bran asked panicked, he didn’t even know why he needed her, he just knew he had to have her, he knew there was reasoning behind his ghost mother’s vision.

“She passed out from fright, screamed when she saw me and hurt herself in the process,” Viserion narrowed her eyes, “Who is the other?”

“He is me,” Bran said cautiously.

“You look normal enough for someone who occasionally steals the body of dragons,” Viserion growled.

“Thank you?” Bran wasn’t sure how to react, what was a warg supposed to look like? He was sure it was intended as an insult but he knew he shouldn’t anger the beast that literally had him in her claws.

“We have one more human we need to collect, he’s down in the city, if you don’t mind.”

Viserion nodded flapping her massive wings. Bran did the same and they headed into the city. He clenched his eyes shut, remembering the path his mother led him on.

To no surprise, their presence in the city seemed to cause even more of a wide spread panic.

“Their calling my mother’s name,” Viserion whispered.

“They’re terrified we’re going to kill them, they cry for her return,” Bran explained.

Viserion nodded her head, looking out to the Blackwater.

“I promise I’ll help you find her,” Bran whispered.

“I know you will,” Viserion growled focusing back on the city, “Where is the last human?”

Bran closed his eyes and replayed the vision in his head, “He will be in the third house in the fifth row, it will be bigger than the one’s around it because it’s a smithery.”

They quickly found it and Bran tore the roof off and was immediately bombarded with something he didn’t expect. The smell of Arya. Bran furrowed his brow, odd, Arya had been here. Jon had admitted that Arya had made the attempt on Queen Daenerys life but what had she been doing with this blacksmith? Is that why his mother was having him bring him? For Arya?

That didn’t seem right.

The man was sleeping in his bed. Bran sighed and reached into the house with one of his massive claws. Carefully, he scooped the sleeping man up without cutting him. Bran nodded to Viserion.

“Where do we go now?” She asked.

“Follow me, I’ll show you,” Bran gave her a draconic smile as he pumped his wings and took flight.

Viserion followed suit but not before destroying a statue of Aegon that stood in the middle of the city.

The man in his claws began to struggle, Bran panicked, “What do I do?”

“Just squeeze him enough to where he can’t breathe and passes out,” The dragoness looked at him like he was stupid.

“That seems a bit inhumane,” Bran complained but did as he was told.

“Inhumane? Is anything about you human at all?” Viserion growled.

“I don’t know anymore,” Bran led her North as the sun started to rise.

--

Everyone at Castle Black was asleep still.

But not Rickon.

He had more important things to do.

He swung his sword at his dummy, wincing as the metal hilt dug into the blisters on his hands.

The last three Lord Starks had met their gods before their time.

But he wouldn’t, he’d live as old as damned Walder Frey had.

It had turned into an obsession. He looked at Shaggy Dog off to the side.

“Do you think I’m working myself to hard?” He asked the black direwolf.
Shaggy just barked.

“Let me tell you something about working hard, brat,” Rickon turned to see his sister Arya approaching.

She stopped just a few feet from him, “When was the last time you slept?”

Rickon couldn’t remember, “I sleep a little bit here and there, power naps really.”

She shook her head, “You need to sleep, dumbass, if you don’t your mind will turn to mush and your reflexes will be shot.”

Rickon beheaded the dummy and threw his sword down with a growl, “Don’t you see? I don’t have time! War is upon us! I can’t fail you guys! I have to get stronger! I have to make dad, mom and Robb proud!”

Arya was silent for a moment, “You were only three or four when dad and mom left Winterfell, do you remember them well?”

“Would you think me horrible if I said I couldn’t even remember what they look like?” Rickon sighed, without his sword in his hands he was starting to feel sleep weigh down on him.

Arya drew one of her swords, Needle, the tiny little blade Jon had made for her when she was a child.

A sword that was way too small for her now, “Pick up your bloody sword.”

Rickon did as he was told and looked at her in confusion, “You plan to duel me with that thing?”

“If you beat me in a duel, you can carry on and do whatever you like, anyone else’s opinion be damned, if someone has a problem with what you do, they’ll have to deal with me personally,” Arya gave him and evil grin and started to circle him like a wolf ready to attack, “But if I win, you will sleep as long as I want you too and then you will be subject to my training.”

“Your training?” Rickon asked, he had been subject to her training before.

“Not with the sword, I think Brienne of Tarth and the Hound have been good about teaching you that. I’m going to teach you how to not fight hard—but smart, which is a thousand times more important. Deal?”

He remembered her sword training, practically daily beatings, Rickon nodded, he would kick her ass.
He lunged at her with his sword, she easily parried with Needle, she grinned, “I take it we have a deal?”

Rickon grinned back at her, striking with all of the moves Lady Brienne and Sandor had taught him.

She easily blocked them all, he was already a great deal taller than her and probably a lot stronger too but her speed was unparalleled.

In fact, she looked bored blocking his strikes.

“How are you so fast?” Rickon growled.

She rolled her eyes, “I knew this would happen, you’re slow. Brienne of Tarth and the Hound are excellent swordsmen but they’re crippled by their impressive heights and strengths. I don’t have either of those, I have to rely on smarts and viciousness. I won’t let you be cripped by your height, I’ll make you the best warrior in Westeros.”

--

It didn’t take long for Arya to tire Rickon out, the boy was already half dead when they began. She couldn’t help but being disappointed how slow he was. Eventually, she got so irritated she just knocked him unconscious with Needle’s hilt.

She hefted the young teen over her shoulder and carried him back into Castle Black. After a good eight hours, she’d begin his training.

--

Bran looked at the sky, they were making excellent time.

He knew they were going to make it to the Greywater just after nightfall.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about seeing Meera again, having done something so unforgiveable.

He had been in love with her since he had met her, awestruck by her beauty and strength.

But she was promised to another and on her wedding night he had warged into the body of her husband.

She had known immediately, bursting into tears.
Bran had felt lower than dirt, never before had he seen the warrior woman cry.

“Bran, I know it’s you, why do you taunt me this way?”

He clenched his eyes shut, trying to shrug the memory away.

He had a goal, he was meeting with her father, not her.

--

Jon woke with a start, he had fallen asleep at his desk.

Ghost was nowhere to be found and somehow his window had blown open. His office floor was covered in snow.

An icy hand gripped his shoulder.

“Hello Jon.”