Chapter 5: The Long Lake
Frostfyre
Soaring over the treetops, she flew after another poor bird that caught her attention. Expertly chasing the creature, the little orange-gray bird's last sight was an open maw and black teeth.
Oh what good sport it was here in her rider's homeland! The air was crisp and the prey here aplenty. She could only hope that where they were going was as wonderful as this. She was able to fly to her hearts content, and soon enough her fire would burn hot enough to light the world around her.
Soon enough, soon enough.
The skies began to turn from black to red as the sun began its rise. The little dragon knew it was time to return, as her rider-to-be would be waking from his sleep soon.
Landing in the clearing her rider took as their own for the night, the little dragon began to crawl her way up onto his chest. Staring into his sleeping face, she hoped with all her little draconic heart that her rider-to-be would soon be aware of the bond they truly shared. The bond, stronger than any other before them.
Jon Snow
Jon woke from the strange sleep, shaking his thoughts off. Unwilling to open his eyes quite yet, he couldn't help but be reminded of the dreams he had of Frostfyre's egg.
I thought I was done with those. He thought, unable to forget remembering the thoughts and feelings of being Frostfyre. Flying was so… freeing, so purely wonderful that he almost wished he could do it again.
Blinking the blurriness of sleep out of his eyes, he looked down onto his chest to see an excited Frostfyre staring at him with a Robin in her mouth. Silver met gray as the two stared at each other. A small understanding reached him in that moment, yet it was one that Jon was unwilling to fully admit that he was ready for.
This dragon wasn't just a dragon, she was his dragon. There was something more fundamental than just a boy trying to protect a creature here, something… magical.
That thought alone terrified him.
Sitting up quickly, Frostfyre was forced to fly off his chest as he quickly readied himself for another day's ride. As he mounted the unnamed horse, he tried not to think about exactly what this all meant. He would think about it later, once he found safety.
He wondered if anyone in the world would be able to help him now. The only ones he knew of that had dragons were the Targaryens, and they were all gone now. The maesters probably knew, but there weren't any where he was going.
Feeling the little dragon land on his shoulder, he urged the horse onward. He needed to find safety first, then he would work on answers.
—
His heart beating, Jon sat his hand atop the bag to keep it from opening. Praying to himself silently, he urged his horse to continue its trot forward. In front of him was a supply caravan, most likely heading south from one of the more northern keeps like Last Hearth.
"Hey, you!" A man called out atop a large wooden carriage, causing him to turn his head. Leading the small caravan was a man dressed in the thickest furs he's seen. The miserable looking man was shivering despite the relatively warm weather, and clearly was not enjoying his time. Placing a hand on the pommel of his sword, Jon looked over the man's reddened face and thankfully found no sign of hostility. "How far until Winterfell?"
Jon internally sighed in relief, gesturing down the road behind him. "About a seven day's ride."
Sounds of groans could be heard from even inside the carriage, and the man bashed his hand against the wooden seat below him. "Shut it, Edgar. You're the one that wanted to take this damned job!"
Muffled yelling could be heard from inside of the carriage, but Jon wasn't willing to stick around. Feeling his bag shift by itself, he pressed his hand a bit more firmly into the flap as he continued on.
Continually looking behind him, he struggled with the squeaking and wriggling bag for a long while before he finally opened it.
Exploding from her confinement, the little dragon instantly took flight as soon as she could. Screeching and circling in the air above, her mood quickly shifted from agitated frustration in her confinement to happy bliss at the freedom of the skies. Jon shook his head but wasn't able to prevent the smile from reaching his face.
Watching the little dragon do her maneuvers in the air never got tiring. Her scales always seemed to catch the sun, while her fluency in the air seemed to improve every time. She was clearly born for the skies, and it showed as she twisted and turned in the air.
Jon found it a bit soothing to listen to the soft flaps of her wings as well as the hooves of his horse below him as they traveled on. He's spent a week now on the road, and while he wasn't moving very fast at the moment, he was happy with the progress he has made so far. All of his stress and problems remaining hidden in the last week could be traced back to one single problem.
Frostfyre hated the bag. She tolerated it, but her hatred towards the inanimate object was obvious. Thankfully, she seemed to understand that she only ever needed to get in the thing when other people were nearby.
Flying over him in constant circles, he tried to beckon the little dragon back to him, but she just couldn't stay out of the air at the moment. It wasn't her fault that they needed to stay hidden after all, as he couldn't exactly blame her for hatching.
No, he blamed himself for that.
As annoyed as she was at the bag, it was clearly necessary at the moment. There were traders and supply caravans heading to Last Hearth and Castle Black from the south, and he has bumped into some of them already. It was quickly becoming a chore, and more than once he found that the little creature only went into the bag only when he started to panic.
Glancing down to the road, he wondered idly if she would remain as stubborn when she got bigger. Having a dragon doing what she wanted in the northern countryside would spell disaster for any shepherds or stray pets… or horses… or bears…
Chirping loudly, the little dragon landed on his shoulder and started to flap her wings violently. Screeching at him, the little dragon immediately re-sprang from his shoulder once she realized she had his attention again. She began flying in wide circles around him as she showed off. The midday sun reflected off her white and blue scales, casting the clearing around him in a sparkling light.
Jon wasn't able to prevent the large smile from reaching his face. The little dragon seemingly always wanted his attention and approval, feeding into the little part of him that always desired to be wanted.
Laughing, Jon watched the little dragon show off. He caught her looking his way repeatedly even in the air. She was clearly making sure he saw as she dove, flipped, and dodged around obstacles that only she knew of. In the moment, all else seemed to fall away even as the horse continued on below him.
They traveled like this for a while before the little dragon landed back onto his shoulder. She was making little huffing noises, her chest rising and falling quickly as she panted from over exertion. Scratching her head like she always liked, Jon turned back to the road.
"Did you finally wear yourself out?" He said, talking more to himself than the dragon. All he received in response was a chirp, and her making herself comfortable on his furs. Jon noticed that there was a hill ahead. Hills were always a bit dangerous, as someone could be on the other side, and he wouldn't be able to get Frostfyre back into her bag before they spotted the blue scaled dragon on his shoulders.
Seemingly understanding his thoughts, the little dragon fell backwards and wriggled her way into his hood. Blinking, he realized that this would actually work pretty well if no one looked too closely at him.
Shrugging, he crested the hill and looked around.
In front of him was a massive lake, stretching across the horizon to the north and east. The water from here looked like rippling reflections of the sunlight above, looking more like an inland sea than what he knew it was.
The Long Lake.
This was officially the halfway point between Winterfell and the wall if his memory served, which he truly hoped it did. It meant he was making excellent time on his journey.
Smiling, he made his way down the hill toward the lake. He quickly realized that he would need to dismount and lead his horse due to the terrain, but he didn't mind that as much. The lake meant water and food, as it was far easier to hunt next to a source of water like this. The road paralleled the west side of the lake the whole way north. By his best guess, it should take him three or so days to walk the entire length rather than the one it would if he was mounted. Since he knew the route the kingsroad would take, he no longer needed to follow the road. Privacy, food, and safety mattered more than speed at this point.
Walking his horse along the lakeside, trees and bushes blocking most natural paths, it took Jon a bit of time to find a good clearing along the lakeside to make a fire. Eventually finding one, Jon tied his horse to a nearby tree after letting it drink from the lake.
Arriving here meant that he could stay on the lakeside without having to worry too much about being seen on the road. Thankfully for his scaly companion, it also meant that Frostfyre wouldn't need to go into the bag-of-sadness as much.
As if sensing his thoughts, which he was starting to believe she actually could, her little triangular head popped up and glanced around. Sniffing the air, the little dragon jumped down and made her way to the shores of the lake before taking a drink.
Watching her drink, Jon realized that this would be a good spot to set up camp. It was getting late, and the sun was setting. He would need to gather firewood, and so he set off to find any dried sticks he could near enough to the camp so he could still see the baby dragon. She was playing with a small rock, picking it up with her mouth and throwing it, only to pounce on it once it landed then repeating the action.
It is strange, the boy thought, how something so small and innocent can cause so much trouble.
Shaking his head, he turned back to gather more firewood.
—
The soft popping of the fire nearby calmed Jon's nerves as he poked a cinder. On his shoulder, Frostfyre sat quietly as she too watched the fire. The warmth of the burning wood was welcome, as this night was particularly cold.
His mind wandered to the future, and a cold pit filled him. His original plan was to raise her in one of the castles on the wall, then set her loose once she was grown enough to care for herself, but the longer he spent on this trip, the more he realized that he was deluding himself.
"I… I don't think I can do it…" he whispered to the little dragon, gaining the attention of her silver eyes. It felt strange to him, talking to the dragon. He never was one for talking for the sake of talking. That was always Theon or Robb's thing. Yet here he was, talking to Frostfyre like she was his closest friend. Reaching up, he placed his hand in front of her muzzle. Watching her sniff his fingers for food, she looked disappointed and yet returned her attention to his eyes after a moment.
He idly wondered even as he brought his hand up to pet her if the dragon felt the cold as he did. Her scales were perpetually warm and she certainly didn't react negatively towards the weather as far as he could see. She tried to remain close to him, but other than burying her face into his neck sometimes while he was resting, she didn't seem to mind the cold, not that it really mattered.
Hearing the howling of a wolf in the distance, Jon turned and looked towards the darkening forest's edge nearby. A soft hiss left Frostfyre as she raised her wings and puffed herself up to look larger. A part of him knew that there was nothing the two of them could do against a pack of wolves. She might be a dragon, but she was still just a baby.
Glancing to the sword leaning up against a tree nearby, he felt determined to protect her. He wouldn't let her be harmed, no matter what.
Finding a spot to lie down, he propped himself up against a nearby rock. As soon as he did, Frostfyre hopped off of his shoulder and settled in over his head. Her eyes seemed to track something in the woods as she began her vigil over him, which only strengthened his earlier thought. He supposed she felt the same as he did.
"No…" he whispered, even as he shut his eyes to try and get some more rest. "I won't leave you. I promise."
—
It was his second day at Long Lake now, and while he was making progress north, he wasn't in any particular hurry.
The boy spent his day walking his horse, watching the baby dragon play near the water's edge, and training with his sword against imaginary opponents. The days were long, filled with trying to make sure the horse didn't slip on the terrain, but compared to the stressful encounters on the road, this was far preferable.
Hearing a screech that echoed across the landscape, Jon looked up to see Frostfyre flying over the lake. Her wingtips touched the water as she flapped, causing small ripples to spread out as she flew.
Smiling, he looked ahead of him and saw that the terrain ahead was particularly dangerous for the horse. Wet rocks and large drops would make it next to impassable, so he would need to venture into the forest a bit to find a workaround.
"Frostfyre!" He called out over the lake, causing her to fly toward his direction. She flew up to him before landing on a nearby rock and tilting her head.
Well, she knows her name. He thought, before making his way into the forest. He knew she would follow him, so he didn't even bother to make sure of it.
Stepping around fallen trees and around thorn bushes, he eventually made his way around the obstacle and back to the shore. He found himself in another lakeside clearing. Frostfyre seemed a bit agitated that she was forced to stop flying around for a few minutes and took off into the trees chasing something only she knew.
Jon, staring out over the beautiful sight in front of him, got lost in his thoughts of home. He knew now that nothing would be the same, but he still wished to see his family again.
Sure, he was just a bastard son of a high lord, but his half-brother was his best friend. He missed them all dearly. Robb, despite his overconfidence and tendency to bite off a bit more than he could chew, was still his best friend. Arya, the wild little thing, didn't care about his societal status and treated him just like a sister should. He even missed Sansa, despite her mean streak towards him due to her mother and the Septa.
Then there was his father. He regretted the most that he left his father behind. The stony lord of Winterfell always made sure he had a place in his home, even when most wouldn't. He didn't say much to Jon, but he was always there for him when he needed to be.
Picking up a flat stone, he threw it onto the water and let it skip. Watching the ripples over the lake, he then thought about how he left all that he knew after a single day of knowing Frostfyre.
She was important, but was she truly so important that even his father and family took second place for-
"Don't move." A gruff voice called, startling Jon out of his thoughts.
Turning around quickly, he was met with the sight of two men and a woman standing over a bush that they were clearly hiding behind previously. The woman was wielding a bow which was drawn and aimed at him, while the other two held what would be generously considered to be clubs. Their clothing was rough, clearly designed for much colder temperatures than they were currently experiencing.
"Gendel, he's just a boy." The woman said, her accent rough.
One of the two men waded through the bushes they were hiding behind, clearly undeterred from her words. The one on the left responded with, "And how many boys have these kneelers killed? Pfah." Hefting his club up, he walked towards Jon menacingly. "No hard feelings, kid. I'll try not to make it hurt… much."
Jon, not willing to just lay down and die, unsheathed his sword. "You're wildlings."
The three seemed to glower at that, with the other man still behind the bushes even showing his teeth. Jon wasn't stupid. He knew what wildlings below the wall meant. It meant theft of everything you owned at best, and slaughter at worst. Taking his stance, similar as to how he did with Yoren not even a week prior, he readied himself. Adrenaline coursed through his veins at the man who was walking towards him casually yet threateningly.
At his clear show of defiance, the man laughed. It was a full throated belly laugh, clearly showing that he didn't believe Jon could do anything. Taking a hard and fast step forward Jon flinched, taking a step back. This caused both of the men to begin laughing, clearly amused at the terror they thought they were inflicting on the young man.
The woman lowered her bow, a look of concern on her face. "Come on brother, let's just take his stuff and go."
The man turned his head back to his companions, glancing back at the woman. "Why did we even bring you-"
He didn't get to finish, as castle forged steel pierced him through the chest.
It was strange, Jon thought. All of his training growing up had him using either wooden practice swords or later, blunted steel. He was used to the motions, used to the weight of the weapon in his hands, and used to the reactions he would get when he landed a blow. The yelp of pain as the practice sword bounced off or pushed someone back was what he was used to.
He was not used to the lack of resistance due to the sword actually piercing his target. Due to this, the strike threw him off balance for a second as the sword was plunged into the now mortally wounded wildling.
The man's face turned to him, his mouth open as he coughed. Blood splattered on Jon's face even as he wrenched the sword free and the body tumbled to the ground. The man's arm went to his chest even as he fell, trying in vain to stop the bleeding, but it was far too late.
"Gendel!" The other man said, rushing through the bushes as if they weren't even there. "I'll get you for that!"
Knowing he had no time to react to the fact that he just killed someone, Jon readied himself for the next fight.
The man was screaming, rushing towards him with his club raised over his head. Swinging it down, Jon tried to parry the club sideways while dodging which thankfully diverted the blow. The jarring clang of metal on wood was heard, even as Jon dodged to the right. The man was clearly a lot stronger than the young boy, and it was immediately apparent that he was also faster. Recovering from the deflection near instantly, the man growled as he swung his gloved fist directly into Jon's chest.
Thrown from the force of the strike given to him by a man far larger than he was, Jon screamed as pain shot through him. He grit his teeth and bit into his own lip, drawing blood if the taste in his mouth was anything to go by. Landing on the dirty ground roughly, he thankfully remembered two lessons Ser Rodrick taught him.
Do not fall on your sword. Do not drop your sword.
Rolling onto his shoulder as he slammed into the ground, he reflexively tried to push himself up, only to be met with another twang of agony from his arm. It might have been broken from the fall, but right now he doesn't have time to worry about that.
Move. Move!
Rolling, he heard the impact of the club right where his head was a second ago. Swinging blindly, he felt as his sword bit into flesh, which was better than he hoped for. Not bothering to stop, he rolled a few more times before finally getting back to his feet.
The man was on one knee, clutching his thigh and glaring at him hatefully. "Cunt," he yelled, standing up. "I'll get you for that!" The man stood up, blood gushing from his wound and started another charge.
No time to think, Jon dodged another overhead strike and quickly brought his sword up to bury the edge of his sword into the man's neck.
His eyes widened even as his arms went slack. His mouth opened, and just like the man before him, a strained coughing was the only thing that came out before he slumped into the dirt. He stared up at him as his eyes turned glassy, almost as if he didn't expect to die from this wound.
Falling to one knee, Jon glanced down to his arm. Touching his shoulder, he grimaced at the twinge of pain that shot through him. It hurt, but he still wasn't sure if it was broken or not. Trying to move it seemed like it would be a bad idea, so for the moment he just let it be.
Movement caught his attention, causing him to glance up to the woman who was still aiming an arrow at him. Her eyes were wide and her arms were shaking, but that meant little for her accuracy at this range.
Jon knew there was nothing he could do now. He was too far away to reach her before she let that arrow fly. Nonetheless, he held up his sword defiantly with one arm.
The body of the first man he killed was between them, and both of their eyes glanced down to him. Jon remembered that she called him brother, and despite the situation, he felt a pang of sympathy for the woman. "I'm sorry." Left his lips before he even knew it, and she reacted immediately.
Anger filled the hole that sadness once did in her eyes, causing her muscles to stop shaking. Now holding the bow taut and unshaken, she glared hatefully at him. "Why would you be?" She whispered, still holding the arrow. He didn't say anything else in response, just watching her arm as he tried to remain as ready as he could to jump sideways.
Gritting her teeth, the woman seemed to come to terms with what she was doing. Sadly for her, she was unable to act on it.
A white-and-blue blur swooped in from the trees, landing claws first onto the woman's face.
Screaming filled the clearing as the infuriated baby dragon dug, bit, and thrashed at the woman, causing her to loose the arrow wide. Realizing this was his chance, he quickly closed the distance.
Before he could even bring up his sword, the woman grabs Frostfyre by her wings and throws her violently. The little dragon spun in the air, instantly recovering and banking around for another.
Jon got a quick look at the woman's face now and grimaced in empathic pain. Both of her eyes were gouged out, with bite marks and blood from deep cuts and horrible looking scratches were all that was left of her face now. Feeling mercy for the wildling, he swung his sword true for her neck. As her body hit the ground with a dull thud, Frostfyre made her circle back around and continued her relentless assault on the dead woman.
Bending down, he grabbed the infuriated baby dragon and pulled her away. Even as she thrashed, snarled, hissed, and breathed smoke at the dead woman, the baby dragon never hurt him.
Pulling her away, Jon made his way back to the shore. The iron and sticky stench of blood and the surprisingly disgusting scent of shit filled the air, causing Jon's stomach to begin to wrech. Wheezing and shaking, he dropped the little dragon and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the lakeside shore.
Everything just hit him now, the eyes of the dead men as they fell, the woman's mutilated face falling lifelessly away from her body, the blood coating his face and arms, the bodies behind him that he refused to look at.
His good arm was shaking even as it held him up, his eyes burning from tears brought up by his bouts of retching, his mouth tasted of blood and stomach acid.
He needed to leave, to get away from this horrible place. A small part of him knew it would be stupid to leave without his weapon, so he grabbed his bloodied sword and he ran.
He followed the lakebed, but otherwise had no real trail in mind. He ran until he couldn't breathe anymore, his gasps for air preventing him from going any further. Slowly coming to a halt, he slouched up against the trunk and roots of a particularly large tree and stopped. Dropping the sword next to him with a soft clang against the rocky shore, and exhaustion finally took hold.
Frostfyre immediately landed next to him, crawling slowly onto his lap and staring up at him. Her eyes were filled with so much care and worry for him that he couldn't look away. In that moment, he knew deep down that she wasn't just a creature or even a companion. She was something else entirely, and the thought no longer scared him. She knew far more than she let on, and right now she was worried for him.
Always wanting to put on a strong front, he spoke up as he began to pet her. "Don't worry, I'm… I'm fine."
Her eyes told him that she didn't believe him. He almost laughed at how expressive her little reptilian face could be, but his mood and the memories of what just happened just a few moments ago prevented it. Instead, he glanced up and looked over the Long Lake in front of him.
The water was still, not even a ripple going across it. It appeared to just be one big piece of glass cutting through the world in front of him. A soft warm weight on his lap, the exhaustion from the day, and the dull ache of his shoulder slowly pulled him towards unconsciousness.
—
The sound of barking dogs and hooves impacting dirt jostled Jon from his half-asleep state, the painful feeling of his arm becoming a near constant thought in his mind at this point.
Glancing up, he realized that he couldn't have been out of it for more than an hour or two. The sky was red from a setting sun, showing that it was almost nighttime, and yet he couldn't help but feel nothing at all.
Groaning, he tried to get to his feet but his own emotions prevented him from even making the attempt. He was entirely drained now, the fight before taking everything out of him, leaving behind an emotionless husk where Jon Snow once was.
Looking down, the little dragon was staring back at him with her silver slit eyes, clearly wondering why her nest was being disturbed. She was now the only thing that he cared about in this state, not that it was much of a difference than before. After all, she was why he was in the situation he was in.
Her normally bright scales were still stained red and brown from dried blood, and he was certain he looked the same. Here he was, a boy with a sword, coat, and face stained blood with a dragon sitting on his chest. He knew he couldn't be spotted like this, but he didn't have much of a choice in the matter.
Rounding the bend in the lake were two bloodhounds and a man in hunter's clothes. He looked determined, and the moment the two of them caught each other's eyes, the man stopped and held the leashes taut as he prevented the dogs from reaching him. Immediately following the man were the immediately recognizable faces of Ser Rodrik and Eddard Stark.
The three of them stopped, staring at him with wide eyes. Here he was, bloody, beaten, and with a baby dragon on his chest. Jon really shouldn't have been surprised that the three of them were struck speechless. Sadly for him, Frostfyre was unwilling to let the silence stand. Seeing them as threats, she spun around on his chest, lowering herself to appear more threatening before hissing loudly at the newcomers.
"Jon!" His father called, taking a step forward but stopping at the increase in Frostfyre's anger. Smoke left her mouth, trying in vain to fend off the newcomers with her nonexistent fire.
"Stop it," he called weakly to her, which thankfully worked slightly as the puffs of smoke ceased.
His father took a few more steps closer, his hand on his own sword as he stared down to him in what could only be dumbstruck fear. Something in his eyes that was never there before could be seen, as if his world was shattering before him.
It was over now, Jon quickly realized. They were going to take the little dragon away from him. They were going to kill her, and there was nothing he could do about it. All of what he went through in the past week meant nothing now.
No.
Feeling as the hole of nothingness he had moments before filled itself with overwhelming anger, he gripped his fallen sword that remained still on the ground nearby. Holding it up, he did something that answered his earlier thoughts.
He pointed the tip of his sword towards his lordly father.
A gasp came from Ser Rodrik even as his father stopped moving, the knight spoke up. "Jon, stop. You aren't thinking this through-"
"You once taught me," Jon interrupted as he glanced toward the knight, "to never bare live steel against someone unless you were willing to use it." Turning his eyes back to his father, Jon met his eyes unflinchingly. "I won't let you take her."
Jon's arm was shaking which caused the sword to wobble in the air in front of him. He wasn't quite sure why he kept the sword in the air like he did, but he came too far to back down now.
Lord Stark stood there for a moment, a great many emotions covering his face before he let go of the pommel of his sword. Stepping towards Jon with a soft but sad look on his face, he slowly placed his palm on the flat of Jon's blade and lowered it to the ground.
The moment his blade touched the ground, the boy could remain strong no longer. A sob left him against his will and tears flooded his eyes. He cried harder than he ever had before, years of pent up frustration and a day of pain and horror all coming to a head. Before now, he was never willing to let the malicious jeers and hateful glares get to him. He was never willing to show weakness when he started throwing himself at his training in Winterfell, and yet now with all that has happened in the last week, the thirteen year old boy broke.
Sobbing, he quickly found that he couldn't see, but could feel as the little dragon spun back around in his tears. Burying her face into his neck, his sobs were immediately filled with choked laughter. Was this the last time that he would see her? Was this the end?
Feeling a hand on his shoulder, he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his good arm and looked up. He saw his father's eyes stained with tears of his own. Surprisingly, Frostfyre didn't react as violently as he thought she would at the touch, deciding instead to ignore the Lord of Winterfell to try and comfort him.
Deciding to plead for the little dragon's life, Jon wrapped his arm around Frostfyre who responded by trying to bury her face even deeper into his neck. "Please father, don't take her away. Please. I… I…" Finding the same courage that let him fight the wildlings, he took a deep breath and met his father's eyes determinedly. "Promise me you won't, please."
His father's face turned white, and he let out a choked sob of his own. Gray eyes met gray eyes once he was done, and Jon saw his father cry for the first time in his life. The two sat in silence like that for a while, before Lord Stark seemed to come to some kind of decision. "Alright Jon, you win." He said before standing up. The Lord of Winterfell alternated his gaze between the boy and the dragon before he wiped his own eyes with his sleeve. Turning back to the other two men, he spoke up, his voice regaining its normal confident and steady tone. "Ser Rodrik, set up camp. I have a feeling we will be here for a while."
Relief washed over Jon like a tidal wave, his choked sobs were back, but now he had the ghost of a smile on his face. "Thank you, father. Thank you."
Holding out his arm for Jon to grab, he smiled down even as he spoke up. "Come on, Jon. Let's get you cleaned up."
-Author's Note-
Yall forgot he was 13 for a moment there didn't ya'?
Alright, so this has been my first attempt at writing combat in a long while. Please let me know if I did the scene justice. GoT/ASOIAF gore and the M rating give me a bit more liberty to write it as I fully imagine it, so I just hope that yall were able to visualize it in the same way I was.
And yes, I reused the dragon in the winter hood thing from my other story Ouroboros. It's a good idea, and I'm sure Illuyana wouldn't mind little Frostfyre being a copycat.
As per the usual, if you like it consider giving me a follow and a favorite and leave a review if you REALLY did. :D