Rivers of Fire and Blood

Jon IV

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the Ice and Fire Novels, Game of Thrones and House of the Dragon TV shows. However, I decided to have a little play around with the characters. I do not earn any money from writing these stories, it is for my entertainment and is something I like to share.

The trip from the north to Dragonstone had taken almost two weeks. Jon hadn't wanted to be seen and it appeared Drogon felt the same way. They had stopped at small islets along the way, which although was inconvenient, it had given them chance to get to know one another and bond. However, that lengthy journey had masked how fast and far a dragon could fly in a day, or two in this case. The seat helped a lot. Although there had been nothing to anchor him in, he modified it with a belt just so he wouldn't fall. Jon's adaption to the seat far exceeded that of Drogon's. At first the dragon seemed to struggle, wriggling about and dropping height. Jon suspected the seat irritated him, therefore when they stopped to rest for a few hours on an islet just off the coast of the Fingers, Jon altered the straps for him which seemed to calm him.

The second part of the journey was flown over land, although he did see what looked like a fleet of ships descending on White Harbour. As the skies were still dark, Jon was able to take a better look, one he wished he hadn't seen. The Targaryen flags were flying on what looked like ten ships, although these were clearly not warships. He couldn't see any scorpions like he had in the south. Jon wasn't involved with these ships which meant they were leftovers from Dany, probably Unsullied as the Dothraki hated the sea. Although he couldn't be certain, Jon estimated there would be around two thousand Unsullied aboard the ships. By nightfall the next day, the men would be marching towards Winterfell, which from his experience would be another five days to get there. Regardless of whatever his plans had been before, he had no choice but to go to Winterfell, whether Sansa wanted him there or not. He had to warn them, although they wouldn't have chance to raise an army strong enough to take on the Unsullied in such a short space of time.

It had taken almost a full day of riding for Jon to see the castle of Winterfell in the distance. Dusk had already settled, the light coming from the windows giving it's shape and location away. As he descended he knew Drogon had alerted the animals to his presence. Dogs began to bark, horses neighed and the familiar sound of a wolf howling made him smile, Ghost was already there. Jon's face fell, these people probably thought Jon was dead, and the sight of Drogon might not be a welcoming one, especially when he opened his mouth and roared, fire engulfing the skies above the castle. He heard screams from below as he descended to the courtyard, which was a bit small for Drogon, but he managed. He climbed down from the dragon and turned around, only to be hit by a sea of red hair and arms wrapped around him.

"I knew you weren't dead." Sansa whispered into his ear. "Welcome home." she pulled back and smiled.

Jon pulled back and bowed his head. "Your Grace." he smiled.

Sansa suddenly curtseyed. "Your Grace." she smiled back as Jon's face dropped, then out of the corner of his eye he saw Tormund and guessed he must have told her.

Tormund suddenly bowed his head. "Your Grace." he said loudly, confusing Jon. Despite what he was called beyond the wall, nobody used formal titles. However when he saw who was standing next to Tormund he understood why the wildling had said it.

"Your Grace." Tyrion said, his voice low and Jon suspected his teeth were gritted when he uttered those words.

"Tormund, Lord Hand." Jon nodded back, confused as to why on earth Tyrion was in Winterfell. Then he heard a low growling sound coming from behind Sansa. "Ghost?" Jon grinned as he saw the white fur of his direwolf, except this wasn't the greeting he was expecting. Ghost was baring his teeth at Jon, ready for the kill. For the first time, Jon felt fear at the sight of his direwolf. "Easy boy." Jon held his hand out, but Ghost began to look rabid, then from behind Jon came a low rumble. Jon turned around and saw Drogon lowering his head towards Ghost, growling back. Fearful Drogon would kill his direwolf, Jon knew he had to separate them, ss Jon turned to Drogon. "Daor." (no) he shook his head, and Drogon stopped growling. "What's wrong with him?" Jon frowned.