26 25-The Dragonwolf and The Doe

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on the Harry Potter and A Song of Ice and Fire universes. All recognizable characters, plots, and settings are exclusive property of Joanne K. Rowling and George R.R. Martin respectively. I make no claim to ownership.

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Acknowledgements: This chapter was edited by Void Uzumaki and Ashestodust. I also want to thank my beta-reader nicknm for helping me bounce ideas around.

If you want to support me, you can now find me on Pat-re-on under the same name, where I also have advanced chapter

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Jon Stark

His connection to Stormstrider was gone. It seemed that the bonding with Shireen had permanently severed whatever link had existed between him and the purple dragon. According to the records he found, dragonriders, once bonded, were for life and neither dragon could have another rider, nor could the rider claim another dragon. And Jon had no intention whatsoever of killing Shireen or her dragon. On the one hand, having a second dragonrider increased the military potential of the north immediately. On the other hand, however, Shireen scarcely had any real connections to the north beyond the fact that she was staying here and that was troubling.

Though, judging by the defiant stance of Stormstrider who looked like a scolded child, it was he who initiated the connection. In contrast, Shireen was tense, mortified, and looked like she wanted to disappear into the ground. All things considered, he should not have been surprised by this, especially since Jon knew that Shireen's great-grandmother was Rhaelle Targaryen, and the founder of House Baratheon was Orys, the half-brother of the Conqueror.

He curiously reached out with a tendril of magic to check on the girl in his hands. Though 'girl' was the wrong word, she was not a child anymore but had not fully bloomed into a woman quite yet. Shireen had bruises and even cuts all over her legs and arms, courtesy of Stormstrider's hard and sharp scales. Though, not nearly as hard and sharp as those of Winter. None of it was particularly serious on its own, but there were plenty of them and Shireen would need some medical attention rather quickly. And the purple dragon would need a saddle of his own. He then noticed that Shireen looked like she was about to burst into tears.

"Gods, Shireen, calm down. Nothing bad is going to happen to you," he said soothingly.

"...But I stole your dragon?" Her quiet voice was dripping with guilt.

"Looking at the smug snout of the hatchling over there, it was he who picked you instead so you don't have anything to worry about," he replied with a snort.

"What happens now?" Shireen asked quietly while trying her hardest to not look at him.

"Now, we go back to Winterfell on my dragon and we call for the maester. With your legs like this, you're not to fly on Stormstrider until you're fully healed and a saddle has been made and fitted for him," he explained after some thought and she finally relaxed in his arms.

He had placed Shireen securely in front of him on the saddle, in such a way that she had no chance of falling. Winter then took off to the skies immediately. They were near Winterfell and his dragon had managed to fly with the extra weight without much difficulty, not that the former princess was particularly heavy. Stormstrider was trailing behind them, flapping his wings slowly and looking forlorn. Or well, as much as it was possible for a dragon.

They flew in silence for a short while, until finally landing in the middle of Winterfell's courtyard. A crowd was quickly gathering but he paid them no heed as he picked up Shireen who squeaked with a red face and headed towards the Great Keep. His captain of the guards quickly rushed over with a dozen men in tow.

"Rickard, send someone to fetch Maester Wolkan. I want four of our most loyal guards posted on Shireen's door at all times," Jon quickly barked out orders and men were sent around. The purple dragon was circling in the sky above. The easiest way to deal with a dragonlord was to kill or take control of the rider while he was on the ground. He had no fear of such tactics, but Shireen was far more vulnerable than he was.

He mentally tugged on his connection to Ghost and a few moments later a white blur barrelled through the crowd and his trusty direwolf was standing in front of him with a wagging tail.

Ghost, I want you to shadow Shireen and keep her safe at all times.

As he sent the message through the link, the direwolf's tail began wagging even faster in excitement as he trailed after them.

They reached the Great Keep and soon, Shireen who kept quiet throughout the whole ordeal was placed on the bed in her room, with Ghost curled down lazily near the hearth and looked as if he was asleep, but his ears were twitching now and then.

A guard soon appeared with Maester Wolkan in tow, who was a bit out of breath.

"You called for me, Your Grace?"

"Aye maester, Shireen here has bruises and cuts over her arms and legs, "he simply explained and nodded towards the now paling former princess and her blood-soaked gown.

"I'll tend to her, "the maester nodded, but his face quickly turned stern. "But all of you should leave the room. I do not need gawking or mud all over the floor."

Jon agreed and ushered the rest to get out of the room, leaving the maester to do his job. Everyone but the direwolf who lazily opened one of his baleful red eyes and scanned the room before closing it again.

Outside, the hallway had filled up - a nearly hysteric Myrcella accompanied by the Blackfish and another half a dozen guards stood there.

"Your Grace, princess Myrcella," the master-at-arms chewed through the word as if it was sour lemon, "is telling me some story about how the purple dragon took Lady Shireen. Her two minders seem to tell a similar tale."

"One can say so, Ser Brynden. From now we have a second dragonrider in the North. Shireen Baratheon, great granddaughter of Rhaelle Targaryen, rider of Stormstrider," he announced with some amusement in his voice. There was not much use in hiding the information now. Surprise, uncertainty and many other emotions quickly flashed across the craggy face of his master-at-arms. "Make sure that none but my direwolf and the maester are allowed entrance to Lady Shireen's chambers without my explicit permission. And assign a trusty serving girl to her permanently."

He then headed towards the council chamber. Shireen becoming a dragonrider would change things drastically, though he was not completely sure in what way. Hurried footsteps were heard behind him.

"Your Grace!" a dainty voice shouted. He stopped and turned around, only to see Myrcella rushing his way as quick as her gown allowed her. She stopped, trying to get her breathing under control for a few moments. "Could I be allowed to visit Lady Shireen?"

Jon paused in thought. The golden-haired girl had caused no problems in Winterfell so far. From what he'd seen she made fast friends with Stannis' daughter, and stuck closely to her. Maybe because they were the only noblewomen from the south here. Though that didn't truly matter as earlier, Myrcella was genuinely worried about Shireen, so their companionship was true. It wouldn't hurt to let her visit, and it was not like Cersei's daughter could do anything insidious with Ghost keeping watch.

"I will allow it. You can visit her as soon as the maester allows and she's willing to have visitors," he replied simply, leaving Myrcella flabbergasted in the hallway. Did the girl expect him to forbid her from seeing her only friend here?

He snorted and continued towards the council chambers. Galbart Glover was already there, sitting on one of the chairs. The Lord bowed as soon as Jon entered, but he waved him over and quickly took his seat on the head of the table and waited patiently in silence. In a few minutes, Wyman Manderly appeared, followed by his page Alyn, and a rather short and plump middle-aged man wearing the finest silks. He had dark hair, and energetic brown eyes peaked cautiously from a rather jovial face.

"Your Grace, "Lord Manderly greeted him with a small bow and waved his meaty hand towards the newcomer. "This is Edwyle Locke!"

The man in question bowed "At your service, My King. I rode hard from White Harbour as soon as I received your summons and arrived an hour ago."

Jon raised an eyebrow but graciously accepted his bow. There were little more than five hundred miles from Winterfell to White Harbour, the man must have travelled with little rest to arrive in less than five days.

"Good, from now on, you're the spymaster of the North, but the position is not going to be…official. In public you will pose as the head scribe of Lord Manderly. Sit," he motioned with his hand and turned to Wyman's page. "Alyn, get us ale and wine, we're going to need it," the boy's eyes widened in surprise and then happily ran off. "Tell us, Lord Edwyle, do you have any news from the south?"

"Yes, My King. According to the merchants from the Narrows Sea, Daenerys Targaryen has landed with the help of Asha Greyjoy on Dragonstone with ten thousand unsullied and three dragons," he dutifully reported. "The Redwyne Fleet has been sunk by Euron Greyjoy who continues to terrorise the shores and isles of the Reach unopposed."

This brought a smile to Jon's face. The new spymaster was already proving useful, as before this they scarcely had any news from the side, aside from the occasional raven from Casterly Rock or Aegon Targaryen. The name Euron felt oddly familiar to him for some reason, but he quickly dismissed it. If he did not remember it was most probably not important at all. After all, the Ironborn were nothing more than glorified pirates and if they dared to sail North again, Jon would hang them all by their entrails and bathe the Iron Isles in fire and blood.

"Slave Soldiers in Westeros?! Allying with Ironborn?! Has the girl gone mad like her father? Do we know what her goals are?" Lord Manderly asked and his chins of fat juggled with worry. He was right to worry because Daenerys had hatched her dragons years earlier than him, and Jon had no idea how big they had grown. And even small ones were a great danger to an army, as seen at the Battle of Winterfell little more than a month ago.

"We only know that she called for the Narrow Sea houses to pay homage to her so far," Edwyle responded quietly while fiddling with a silver brooch depicting two crossed keys atop his doublet.

"Try to find out everything you can about her goals and movements," Jon ordered and the others nodded in agreement. Allyn returned, carrying pitchers of wine and ale. After a few moments, all the goblets on the table were filled. He looked at the members of his council. "You must wonder why I called you here out of schedule. This morning, Shireen Baratheon mounted Stormstrider and became a dragonrider."

His announcement made the whole room descend into silence. Manderly looked pensive, while Glover was uncertain, and Locke was scratching his beard in wonder.

"I thought that Shireen Baratheon had perished in the northern wilderness shortly after Stannis?" his new spymaster asked hesitantly.

"She would have died if I had not sent men to find her," Jon explained simply and gulped a mouthful of ale. "Shireen is very much alive and well, and even her grayscale has disappeared ...with the blessings of the Old Gods."

Glover and Edwyle nodded along as if it was the most natural thing, but Wyman did not look like he believed that story.

"Does that mean that the dragon no longer answers to you, Your Grace?" The Hand asked. A small smile appeared on Jon's face. He had chosen well for his Hand, the Lord of White Harbour was sharp indeed and immediately saw the crux of the problem.

"Indeed, Lord Manderly. I cannot warg in it anymore and I don't think there is a way to break the connection between a rider and their dragon other than death, and nobody is going to kill Lady Shireen under my roof," he stated with steel in his voice.

"Nobody would dare, Your Grace. But... she will eventually be wed, and it might be in our best interest to bind her to the North by marriage to keep the dragon here. That way we will not lose any dragons and would have two dragonriders," his Hand stated cautiously.

"She can wed my nephew, Gawen. The boy is my heir and just a few years younger than her," Glover proposed thoughtfully. Ah, so this was his angle. A marriage to a dragonrider would raise House Glover higher than ever before within a single generation.

"History tells us that giving a second House control of dragons is folly! Look what happened during the Dance!" Manderly nearly shouted.

"Then do you mean for Stannis' daughter to marry His Grace and become our Queen because of a dragon!? She has no lands, no men, and no alliances to her name, only enemies!" Glover was outraged for some reason. "If our king has to marry just for dragons, he might as well marry Daenerys Targaryen as she has three!"

"Have you lost your wits, Galbart? The Mad King's daughter for our Queen?! Preposterous!" Manderly's face turned a shade of purple in anger. Jon blinked in amazement. He had not expected the Lord of White Harbour to lose his cool like this. "Daenerys has already married once to a Dothraki Khal and a second time to a ghiscari slave peddler, not to mention that she brought bloodthirsty savages and slaves to the shores of Westeros! She is an unfit match for His Grace!"

"The merchants say that her campaign in Slaver's Bay left only hunger, plague, and ruin in her wake," Locke supplied helpfully. "Even the freed slaves rebelled against her. Yunkai and Astrapor are devastated and would take decades to recover. The trade from the Far East is said to be almost completely disrupted."

"If he marries Stannis' daughter, His Grace might as well declare a war on the whole of Westeros! Bah-"

He tuned out the loud argument in front of him and took another mouthful of ale. All of them were giving valid points, but he started considering their interests and the possible political implications.

Aside from his desire to bring in a dragonrider in his family, did Glover have another motive? After jogging his memory, he remembered that Lord Galbard had an unmarried sister that was just a few years older than Jon and probably hoped to make her the next queen. Never mind that Jon was not even considering Lyra Glover as a possible candidate for a wife. He had even heard rumours that she had been spoiled by the Ironborn during their occupation of Deepwood Motte.

Jon marrying Shireen would deny them the possibility of a northern Queen and a marriage to a dragonrider at the same time. He knew that Wyman also wanted to make his granddaughter queen, but the Lord of White Harbour seemed to be afraid of a second house having dragons in the North. Or was it maybe because the main line of House Manderly had no male in a marriageable age and he certainly knew that? It seemed that his Lord Hand was thinking about the long-term consequences and preferred stability. No doubt if Wylla couldn't become queen, a future great-granddaughter of his could be married into House Stark in the next generation instead.

And having two different Houses that could ride dragons would indeed affect the stability of the North in the long run. Riding a dragon high in the skies would easily make one prideful. Not to mention the possibility of claiming the dragons of House Stark, thus stealing them. Maybe they wouldn't rebel in one or two generations, but down the line, it was a certainty. And history easily showed how devastating a dance of dragons could be.

Locke seemed to support Lord Manderly unconditionally, which was not a big surprise since Wyman was the one to recommend him. Not that it mattered, as long as he did his job dutifully and loyally.

House Targaryen seemed even more hated in the North than he thought and Jon was glad that he had decided to keep his parentage a secret. His aunt by blood, Daenerys, seemed like a whole bag of trouble that he had no desire to touch with a ten-foot pole, three more dragons or not. And Shireen indeed needed to be tied to the North politically. The northern Lords were loyal to him, but he would not tempt their ambitions with a union with a dragonrider right now. But on the other side, in the future, he would have daughters or granddaughters that would have the right blood to ride a dragon. Did he want House Stark to start marrying brother to sister?

The idea felt both tempting and distasteful at the same time. He shook his head, banishing the idea from his head. He could try and possibly design a ritual in the future, tying the ability to bond with a dragon with only his direct male line, thus ensuring that the dragonriders will carry the name Stark. And well, if it turned out impossible, he might have to reconsider the idea of wedding brother to sister.

At least Stannis had already raised and trained Shireen as his heir so she knew her duty both as a woman and as a ruler. Also, she was a daughter of a King. A short-lived King sure, but one nonetheless. The blood of the mighty Storm Kings flew thickly through her veins. Shireen might not be an exceptional beauty, but once the greyscale was gone, she was not ugly by any standard and was even blossoming more and more with every single day. Not to mention that Shireen was kind, sweet, and shy. Taking her as a wife would make for a peaceful marriage.

The only downside was that she was too young at four and ten name days, but that was a problem that solved itself with time. Even if he married her now, he did not have to consummate the marriage on the spot. It was not like anyone could force him to do it. What were they going to do, fight him or steal his wife under his nose?

As for the south, they were welcome to come and take the North by force. For thousands of years, countless Andal kings and warlords met their end at the Neck. House Stark fought off enemies from every direction for millenia, without a dragon. Now, with Winter, he would have even less trouble without even counting in his magic. In an year or two, his companion would become a complete terror on the skies.

The more he considered the idea of marrying Shireen, the more appealing it became. He was never one for making grand plans and would deal with any potential problems on the fly.

Shireen Stark had a good ring to it, and she would make a fine queen. And well, his bannermen might grumble but accept it. It's not like they could compare with a dragonrider. But, first, he'd have to ask her if she was willing.

As he broke out of his musing, he realised that the rest of his council were still arguing heatedly.

"That is enough!" his voice thundered with power and he slammed his hand on the table, silencing the squabbling men immediately. "I will hear no more on the topic of marriages, mine or Lady Baratheon's. You have made your opinions known and I will consider them. We have an important meeting with all the Lords in the evening, save your energy for then. Dismissed!"

He got up and headed back towards the Great Keep, or more specifically – Shireen's room. There was no point in dallying and he might as well for her hand now.

***

Shireen Baratheon

Her arms and legs itched hotly and were covered almost completely with bandages. She had declined the offer for milk of the poppy. Her father had always taught her that one should keep their wits at all times, and she preferred to feel the pain more than to feel numb.

"You were lucky, my lady. Only two of the cuts are deep. You're to stay in bed and avoid moving for at least four days. I will come back tomorrow to change the poultice and bandages," Wolkan informed her before exiting the room, leaving her alone only with the crackling fire in the hearth.

Not alone, as a movement near the fireplace caught her attention. The king's big white direwolf got up, stretched lazily, and silently trotted over to her. She had not even seen or heard him come into the room, but he had always been very silent. Ghost sat right next to her bed and laid his fluffy head on her covers and closed his eyes. His head was a bit heavy, but not in an uncomfortable way. She hesitantly ran a hand through the fur on his neck, which felt incredibly soft and silky. Gods, she had wanted to do this for so long. Surely, but slowly, the itching sensation from the poultices stopped bothering her.

Her mind travelled to the purple dragon, Stormstrider. Her dragon, now. Shireen remembered some of the nightmares she had years before. About the dragons coming to eat her alive. But those bad dreams had stopped sometime ago. She scrunched her face, trying to remember when. Her last nightmare where she died had been during her father's march to Winterfell. Was this just a coincidence?

What would happen to her now, as a dragonrider?

Just as she was lost in thought, the door opened. The king entered the room and sat on the chair near her bed. Ghost got up, and lazily curled on the ground near the legs of his master. Her bandaged hand forlornly returned under the covers and Shireen keenly felt the absence of the weight of the direwolf's head.

"How are you feeling, Lady Shireen?" Jon Stark asked with a soft voice.

"A bit tired, Your Grace. The maester confined me to bed for the next four days or so," she responded.

He nodded and looked at her appraisingly. His dark purple eyes were mesmerising, yet piercing and she felt like they saw through her completely. After a minute, she squirmed under his intense gaze and he finally spoke.

"I am not one for flowery words. Shireen Baratheon, daughter of Stannis Baratheon, and rider of Stormstrider, "Jon Stark resolutely spoke and his eyes glimmered with an unknown emotion for a short moment, "I ask for your hand in marriage."

Her dark blue eyes widened in surprise. Her mind felt muddled and she wondered if she was in a dream. She blinked, and even pinched herself, but vividly felt the pain. No, it was most certainly not a dream.

"Why me?" Shireen managed to croak out.

"Why do you think I proposed?" he curiously returned.

She blinked and forced her jumbled mind to slowly start working again.

"Because I am a dragonrider?" Shireen guessed timidly. She really couldn't think of any other reason.

"Indeed, that was my main reason. But not the only one," the king said quietly.

"But it's your dragon, Your Grace!" she exclaimed and words started spilling out of her mouth. "I would follow you anyway, there is no need to wed me ...I'm not as pretty as the other ladies. Even without the greyscale, my face is still scarred! I have nothing, no lands or swords sworn to me. Even what little was left of my father's men abandoned me as soon as he died. I've only a name and a few kingdoms worth of enemies!"

"It seems that I chose even better than I thought before," he murmured to himself with a nod. "I care not for any scars, Lady Shireen. It would be especially foolish of me to judge you because of them when I have a lot more than you do. Cersei Lannister is considered one of the biggest beauties in Westeros, yet I have not met a more unpleasant woman. Beauty fades with time, but kindness and duty do not. I am not lacking in lands or swords, my lady. If you wed me, every sword north of the Neck would answer to you. As for the enemies in the South? Let them come!"

His voice was rather quiet but his words rang with power and Shireen finally saw why they called him the Demon of Winterfell. Now, the man in front of her radiated palpable danger, so much that the hairs of her neck stood up and the air in the room felt heavy. But that only made her feel safe. At this moment there was not a single doubt in her mind that no matter how numerous, all of her enemies that would dare harm her would be lain to waste by Jon Stark, with sword or with fire.

Another thought appeared in her head. Shireen was technically a ward of the king, as she had not yet reached the age of majority. He could easily force her to wed him or someone else, without even caring about her opinion and nobody would even blink. But here he was, patiently waiting for her to come to a decision. She owed him more than she could ever repay. Saving her life, curing her greyscale, and taking her under his roof. Shireen had even fantasised about becoming Jon Stark's wife a few times, but had shoved those seemingly foolish dreams in the deepest part of her mind and avoided thinking about it. Especially since all the unmarried maidens of the north had their eyes on the king already and Shireen found herself lacking in comparison.

But now hope bloomed in her chest. It felt surreal, but this was not a dream. The chance was here, before her, and she only had to grasp it.

"Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and King of the North," Shireen spoke with resolve. "I accept your proposal and willingly give you my hand in marriage!"