Author's Note
I do not own Game of Thrones.
Only when he reached the tackshed did Ned stop to consider the fact he currently had a dragon the size of a carthorse in the Winterfell courtyard.
A dragon none could ever see, for if any knew they'd crown him or Jon King of Winter before he could argue. The North, as he was reminded so often, had knelt for a dragon, not a stag. If anyone knew they had a dragon of their own, it would be war. Most Northmen held no love for the South, nor cared for his loyalty to Robert Baratheon.
Robert.
What would be his reaction, if he was to ever know about Silverwing? She was true Dragonspawn, and Robert's hatred of those was blatant. It was why he could never know of Jon.
And he could certainly never know of the dragon the size of a carthorse in the Winterfell courtyard.
He fetched the leather measuring tape and a riding blanket, along with several straps. If Jon planned on flying tonight, they could at least tie him on for now.
When he returned to the stableyard, Lordling had appeared, now fully grown since his trip to the Iron Islands. He wore a strange contraption on his back too, an amalgamation of leather straps with stirrups. Ned had never considered riding his own Winter – he feared he was too big a man – but Jon was a much smaller boy.
He held up the measure. "We're going to measure her, and I'll see if we can work something out as to what a saddle might look like."
The Targaryens had had saddles for their dragons, hadn't they? He'd seen them in the illustrations, read of them in books.
Jon's face lit up. "Oh, thank you, Father!"