My apologies for the delay. But I have gotten a new pc. I've swapped from Windows to Mac. I lost a load of my notes, so if I make a few hiccups, I apologise. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. For anyone questioning the reason behind the smut scene in the last chapter, it will make sense in this one.

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By the time they reached the Great Keep, the earlier snow flurries had transformed into a blizzard. The wind blew hard, and Jon couldn't see his hand in front of his face. Only the lights and the pull of the dragon egg guided him. He held onto Sansa's hand to ensure they didn't get separated.

Once inside the keep, Sansa removed her hood. Her cheeks were pink, her breathing heavy. To Jon, she had never looked more beautiful.

"Are you alright?" Jon asked.

Sansa smiled and nodded. "Where did that come from? I haven't seen snow like that since…"

Jon knew she meant the long night, but chose not to mention it. Instead, he shrugged. "Mayhaps it is an omen?"

"A good one, I hope," Sansa laughed.

"Now, let us hatch a dragon," Jon said, kissing her lips.

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Once inside their chambers, Jon pulled out the vial of blood and sap, which Sansa had provided, the one containing Ramsay's blood, and the wooden box. He placed them on the vanity table next to a mortar and pestle, which Sansa used to crush rose petals to create the perfume she wore. Then he pulled the heavy wooden box containing the dragon egg, from under the bed where they had hidden it from the maids.

As the box was made from wood, Jon didn't need to remove the egg from it. The wood would burn, as would the dragonglass, which encased the egg. He opened the box and took one last look at the tiny piece of egg which protruded the obsidian. The light reflected the white scales, with red veins flowing through it. Jon stroked it lovingly. He couldn't understand, nor explain the emotions. Mayhaps it was like how a father felt looking at his newborn offspring.

Jon held it out to Sansa. "Do you wish to touch it one last time?" he asked. "The dragon wants you to."

"I will burn my hand," she replied.

"He promises you won't," Jon told her.

Sansa furrowed her brow, but she edged closer, albeit with reticence. Jon took her hand in his and lay it upon the egg, which had cooled, as if it knew what to do for Sansa. She gazed up at Jon, eyes wide.

"How did it know?" she asked.

"I don't know," Jon admitted. "But it knows who you are."

Jon had a theory about that, but he wanted to wait until the dragon hatched before putting it to her. He didn't want to frighten her with the suspicion the dragon may consider Sansa to be its mother, despite not being its rider.

Jon placed the lid back on the box and carried it to the hearth, while Sansa removed her wet cloak and boots, before sitting on one of the chairs opposite the fire, waiting for the magic to happen. With a great deal of care, Jon placed the box into the fire. Once he was happy it wouldn't fall out, he picked up the vial of Ramsay's blood and the one filled with Sansa's. From inside the small wooden box he'd collected the required materials, Jon picked up the cloth and took it to the fire with the other items.

"Mērī morghon kostagon addemmagon syt glaeson," Jon said, pouring the vial of Ramsay's blood on the fire. The flames rose through the chimney. Once upon a time, Jon would have been afraid of the fire, but not now. Something about him was different. Not only could he tolerate heat and fire, he knew the High Valyrian words to use. This was equally strange as the only word he'd known in his previous life was 'Dracarys'. He'd looked at some of the books he'd retrieved from Dragonstone, but he hadn't memorised it.

Sansa threw him a confused look. She knew he spoke no High Valyrian, yet here Jon was, reciting it as if he'd known it all his life. "How do you know what to say?" she whispered.

Jon simply shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted as he removed the stopper of the vial of blood provided by Sansa.

"Hen se ānogar hen issa jorrāelagon," Jon continued as he poured the blood into the fire.

The liquid hissed as it touched the flames. White and red sparks spat out from the fire. Sansa moved her chair back to avoid being burned by any loose embers. Jon held no such concerns for his own safety, but he appreciated Sansa taking it upon herself to get out of the way. He had a feeling this might prove to be a fiery event.

The next item to go in the fire was the black handkerchief. "Ao issi īlva riñnykeā," he repeated as he tossed the soiled item into the flames. He stared into the fire for a moment, as nothing spectacular happened this time. Instead, it was Sansa who caught his attention.

"Ow," she complained, clutching her stomach and bending over.

"What is the matter?" Jon asked.

Sansa laughed. "I think it is my moonblood. We women endure pains before it arrives, although it is very early and never… ow," she doubled over.

Jon rushed to her side and crouched beside her. "Sansa," he tilted her face to him. Her face was paler than usual. Even her lips were pale. "I've been around you when you've had your moonblood. I've never seen you like this before," he said.

"It's not usually this bad," she admitted before doubling up in pain once more.

"Would you like me to get Maester Luwin?" Jon asked.

"I'll be fine," she pushed him away. "I want to see this baby dragon hatch," she said through gritted teeth. "Women deal with this every moon."

"Sansa," Jon started, but the glare she gave him left no room for argument. He stood, feeling somewhat helpless.

"Jon, concentrate on the dragon!" Sansa demanded.

"Fine," Jon sighed and turned to the fire. "Māzigon naejot bisa vys rūs zaldrīzes," he chanted. The fire spat more embers, and Sansa's groans grew louder. "Perzys se ānogar."

Sansa cried out, as a strange smell filled the room. A mixture of sulphur and roses, was the closest he could describe it as. Jon turned to his wife, for he knew they were the last words he were to utter for the spell. He took her hand in his and let her squeeze it with a lot more strength than he expected.

"As soon as the dragon hatches, I'm fetching Maester Luwin," Jon told her.

Sansa merely nodded as beads of sweat formed across her brow. Like all the communication from the dragon, Jon realised what needed to be done to help Sansa, as if the dragon knew. He rose and made his way to the wooden box and picked up the twig.

"You need to chew on this," Jon told her, handing her the twig. "It will ease the symptoms."

Sansa gave Jon a weary look. "How does a baby dragon know this?" she asked. "And why would the dragon know, unless it is causing the pain."

Jon couldn't answer her question, he was just as confused as she was. However, despite her reservations, she placed the end of the twig in her mouth and chewed on it. The change in her was almost immediate. She stopped sweating, and the colour came rushing back to her cheeks.

"Are you feeling better?" Jon asked.

Sansa nodded, but there was still some discomfort in her face. "I don't like how a baby dragon would know this information. I suspect it isn't the dragon communicating with you."

Jon thought for a moment. If it wasn't the dragon, then who could be powerful enough to project that sort of information into his mind. His heart sank when he realised what Sansa was suggestion. "The Three-Eyed-Raven."

Sansa nodded. "That would be my guess."

"Do you think he is in control of the pull I have to it?"

Sansa shook her head. "I believe that is more like the connection we have to our direwolves. Daenerys had a connection with Drogon."

"Aye she did," Jon said. "Maybe you're right. The pull to the egg is the connection, and the information is from the Three-Eyed-Raven. But what about the singing?"

"Did it feel the same as the messages?" Sansa asked.

Jon thought about it. He physically heard the singing, whereas the hatching information he automatically seemed to know. It had affected both their bodies, especially near the weirwood tree. The thought of the Three-Eyed-Raven pushing them to have sex at will, made Jon feel sick. If he could do that, what else could he do? Had the Three-Eyed-Raven acted this way towards others, changing the course of history?

"The singing felt the same as the pull," Jon explained. "Me knowing what to do, was as if I'd read it in a book somewhere."

Sansa creased her brow and chewed on the twig for a moment. "I wonder why the hatching is so unusual for this dragon. I'm sure it isn't like this for other dragons. Targaryens didn't use weirwood sap. They didn't have access to it in Old Valyria and Daenerys didn't have access to it in Essos."

The sound of crackling disturbed them. Jon stared into the flames. More and more of the dragonglass was melting, revealing the egg, which was glowing red. It wouldn't be long before the dragon hatched.

Jon made his way to the table where the wooden box was. He placed the leaves, sap, and bark into the mortar. With the pestle, he ground the them together to make a paste. It was almost done; he added one final ingredient. He unsheathed the dagger taken from Littlefinger and sliced it across the palm of his hand. Jon made a fist and allowed the blood to drip into the mortar until there was enough to make the paste the right consistency.

Once enough blood was in the mixture, Jon wrapped a piece of cloth around his hand to stem the bleeding. He finished the paste and put it to one side. With the bloody dagger in hand, Jon returned to the fire.

"Jon, what are you doing?" Sansa asked.

"One last act. The dragon of ice and fire, still requires fire and blood, with something from old Valyria. It already has gifts from the North."

Jon raised the dagger and hit the egg. Behind him, Sansa cried out in pain, followed by the sound of cracking. Jon sat on the chair opposite Sansa's and took her hand and squeezed it. The weirwood twig was no longer working to ease the pain. However, Jon suspected it would subside as soon as the dragon hatched.

"Is there anything I can do?" Jon asked, feeling helpless.

Sansa shook her head. "I think this might be caused by the hatching of the egg. If so, it will subside as soon as the dragon appears. When it appears," she ground her teeth as another wave of pain overtook her.

Jon stared out of the window, wondering if the storm had stopped, or if this was related to the hatching of the dragon. "It is still a blizzard," he told her.

"Let's hope it stops soon, or we will be snowed in," she said, and then squeezed his hand so tight, Jon thought she would stop the blood flowing into his fingers.

The sound of cracking came from the fire, attracting their attention. They stared into the flames as the egg melted away. Sansa's grip loosened, and she relaxed.

The egg had disappeared to reveal the baby dragon, although they saw very little as it was still sat in the fire, curled up, wings wrapped around its body. There was nothing to giveaway its size, other than it was not as small as a cat like Dany had described the size of her own dragons as hatchlings.

Sansa let go of Jon's hand, allowing him to approach the fire and the dragon. Just as he reached the hearth, the little bundle of white scales and white leathery wings rolled out of the flames. Jon could see more of it now.

It was about as high as his waist, although the head was still tucked inside its wings. Jon guessed it was already larger than Ghost, which was concerning, considering how much meat was on the table. Slowly, the wings unfurled and Jon saw the face being revealed to him.

The dragon was pure white, just like Ghost. When the dragon opened its eyes, they were the colour of blood, again, just like the direwolf. It was almost as if the dragon was Ghost's twin.

Jon held his hand out to the baby dragon, for despite its size, the features were that of an infant. It tried to walk over to him and fell flat on the stone floor. Both Jon and Sansa rushed over to see if it was alright, but the dragon shook itself as Jon helped it to its feet.

Sansa looked at Jon with trepidation. "He's enormous."

"We don't know whether it is a he or she," Jon said.

"Dragons can change sex, if Tyrion is to be believed," Sansa said. "But for now, we could refer to it as a he, until you think of a name."

Jon nodded as the dragon stumbled once more. He was going to have to become steadier on his feet, Jon thought. He's too big to keep helping to stand. I wonder how big his wingspan is, they should help him with his balance.

As if the dragon understood him, it stretched its wings out, until the tip of each wing reached opposite walls. Jon and Sansa glanced at each other in shock at the sheer size of the beast.

"Seven hells," Sansa exclaimed. "He's huge."

The dragon chirped in response, which was not the sound they expected to come out of the mouth of such a large dragon.

"I think he's hungry," Jon said, as he collected the plate of meat from the table. But when the dragon sniffed it, he grimaced.

"What is the matter with him?" Sansa asked, with panic in her voice.

Jon realised the dragon needed a different type of nourishment before it could eat the meat. One which would provide a magical energy. Jon grabbed hold of the mortar and held it up to the dragon's snout. It opened its mouth and stuck the tip of its tongue into the tiny clay pot. Cleaning out every bit of weirwood paste. Once it was finished, Jon handed it the meat, which it soon ate.

"I think we're going to need some more meat," she said.

However, it appeared the dragon wasn't hungry, as he edged up to Jon and sniffed him. First the dragon shoved his snout into Jon's hair, eliciting a giggle from Sansa. Then the dragon edged its way down, sniffing under Jon's armpits, his feet, his crotch, which Jon pushed the dragon away.

"He's like an inquisitive pup," Sansa laughed as the dragon approached her and gave her the same treatment. However, Sansa now knew what to expect, and stroked the dragon's snout, to which he purred in response. "You are cute, aren't you?" she smiled at him.

As if the dragon understood her compliment, he rubbed himself up against her and rested his great head on her shoulder, practically begging for a chin tickle, to which Sansa happily complied. Jon realised it was a good job Ghost and Lady were outside, for he was sure they would envy the dragon.

The dragon folded up its huge wings, which if Jon had to guess was already a fifteen foot wingspan. Jon got caught up in the leathery wings, although he suspected it was not by accident. The dragon pulled Jon in closer and gave him an expectant look. Jon knew the dragon wanted both Jon and Sansa's attention.

"I didn't expect dragons to be so affectionate," Sansa said.

"Both Rhaegal and Drogon wanted their snouts scratching," Jon admitted. "Although I suspect I might have been an exception."

"They probably knew you were a Targaryen. Although that doesn't explain why he is so friendly with me. I'm a stranger," she said.

Jon shook his head, for he knew better. Sansa had spent more time around the dragon egg than he had. The dragon knew her voice, most likely recognised her scent, especially from the handkerchief and blood in the fire.

"I think he sees you as his mother," Jon told her. "You were the one who looked after the egg. He knows you more than me. I might be the rider, but you are his… mother."

"What makes you think that?"

"Don't you think the pains you experienced during the hatching, might have been akin to birthing pains?" Jon asked.

Sansa looked at Jon wide-eyed, before returning her gaze to the baby dragon, which yawned. His eyes were already drooping. "You think he thinks I'm his mother?" she clarified, as the dragon snuggled up to her.

Jon couldn't help but laugh at the scene. An innocent looking, baby dragon, with his head rested on Sansa's shoulder, unsuccessfully fighting sleep. At this rate, he was going to have to challenge the dragon to get his wife back.

"I think so," Jon replied. "Come on little one, time for bed. You can curl up in front of the fire tonight until we find you somewhere more suitable."

The dragon opened one eye and glared at Jon. He huffed before skulking to the hearth and curling up in a ball. Within seconds, the dragon was fast asleep.

"How do you think he'll react to Ghost and Lady?" Sansa asked.

"He'll be seen as part of the pack. He will think the is like them," Jon replied. He didn't know how he knew this, but he did. Jon suspected it was a feeling he got from the dragon. "They're his siblings."

Jon walked to the door and let the two wolves inside, who joined the snoring dragon in front of the fire and curled up next to him, as if he was another direwolf.

Sansa yawned. "I think it is time for us to retire," she said.

Jon agreed, it was getting late. Tomorrow was going to be an important day, for he would need to introduce the dragon to the family, and if he behaved, possibly the Lords. They both removed their clothes and climbed into bed. As they did, Jon noticed the skies outside were clear.

"It's stopped snowing," Jon said as they climbed into bed.

Sansa curled up to him as he wrapped his arms around her. "What should we call him?" she asked.

That very thought had been at the back of Jon's mind since the egg hatched. Most dragons were given a Valyrian name, but this dragon was different, it was of the North.

"I don't know," he sighed. "Any ideas?"

"I've got one," Sansa offered.

"Go on, what is it?"

"Well, he was hatched during a typical northern blizzard. So why not call him Blizzard?" Sansa suggested.

Jon looked over at the dragon, who had lifted his head and turned to them, as if answering to the name already.

"I think he likes it," she smiled. The dragon lowered his head and fell back asleep.

"Aye, you might be right," Jon kissed the top of her head. "Blizzard it is then."

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Mērī morghon kostagon addemmagon syt glaeson (only death can pay for life) (Ramsay's blood)

ānogar hen issa jorrāelagon (blood of my love - sansas vial)

Ao issi īlva riñnykeā (you are our child - hanky)

Māzigon naejot bisa vys rūs zaldrīzes (come to this world baby dragon)

Perzys se ānogar (fire and blood)