Chapter 01 – Encrypted

As a bastard, Jon Snow was supposed to be untrustworthy, hateful, and deceitful, at least according to Lady Stark. As much as he loathed to admit it, there may be some truth to her words. He loved his siblings, yet, he vividly remembers the anger he felt when Robb informed him that a bastard like him would never be the Lord of Winterfell and the envy he feels of his siblings any time he glances at them at the high table.

Still, Jon desperately wanted to prove Lady Stark wrong, even if it meant hiding most aspects of his 'true nature'. So, when Theon embarrassed him during their spar, in front of his father nonetheless, he did not throw a tantrum. Instead, he went to a place where he could be alone, ignoring the Greyjoy's boasts and taunts.

Previously, he hid in the Godswood, the Broken Tower, or even the First Keep, this time, however, fate took him past the lichyard and onto the Crypts of Winterfell.

Going down the stairways that led to the first level of the catacombs, Jon admitted that this may not have been his brightest idea, the Crypts of Winterfell reminded him of something he deeply desired but would never achieve: the Stark name

He quickly glanced and bowed his head to the newest of the statues, his grandfather Rickard, his aunt Lyanna, and his uncle Brandon. The bastard of Winterfell once heard from some of the more seasoned guards at Winterfell that it was his uncle that was supposed to inherit Winterfell and marry the future Lady Stark. Jon couldn't help but let his thoughts drift into the realm of possibilities, if that was the case, maybe he wouldn't even be a bastard as his father would be free to marry his mother. Maybe Lady Stark would call him nephew rather than the bastard.

He descended further; due to the nature of the castle of Winterfell, built atop hot springs, the lower floors were warmer than the upper ones. He never ventured into the crypts alone, nor got past where he was now. Previously he went as far as the third level alongside Robb and Sansa but was forced back as the latter got frightened and threatened to call Lady Stark.

Never one who cared much for Maester Luwin's lessons, Jon couldn't name all the Lords of Winterfell and the Kings of Winter, nor their accomplishments sans a select few. Amongst those was King Jon Stark who shared his name, King Jon fought invaders from the east and built the Wolf's Den, now a prison in White Harbor. Ironically enough, beside the statue of King Jon stood the statue of King Theon, who, to add humor to the situation, fought and defeated the Ironborn in Bear Island.

He wondered if Theon Greyjoy's father knew of the Stark King who shared his son's name. In fact, he also wondered whether he was named after Jon Stark, and if he did it was his father's idea or his mother had any say in it.

He kept descending, passing through the pillars and statues until he reached the end of the tombs, where King Brandon Stark, namesake of both his brother, half-brother as Sansa has been reminding him of late, and deceased uncle rested, the sword placed atop the statue's lap rusted.

Unlike Jon and Theon, the name Brandon was repeated amongst the Kings of Winter and Lords of Winterfell alike. Jon could recall hearing about both Brandon the Shipwright and Brandon the Burner amongst others, although no Brandon Stark was more famed than Brandon the Builder, legendary founder of Winterfell.

Snow wondered whether he was looking at the likeness of the Builder or another. Before he could ponder his musings further, something else caught his attention, namely a small creak that led to an even lower floor. Approaching the breach, Jon frowned. He could barely fit through the gap, and even if he did it was too dark to discern anything else, he could possibly plummet to his own death if he wasn't careful.

However, he was sure that should his father visit the lower floors anytime in the near future, and notice the breach, it would be covered preventing him from ever exploring the hidden steps. It was better than Arya finding it, though, as he was sure his younger sister won't exercise as much caution as he did.

What rooted him to his spot rather than heading back to the castle was this eerie feeling, like a pull towards whatever was down there.

He sighed, knowing that this would be yet another one of those decisions he would regret making in a few instants. But Jon braced himself and stood directly above the creak, dropping his torch to measure how much he was above the hidden floor. Thankfully, he heard a thud not so long after, and wrinkling his eyes he could see a bit of light, so he was sure there was no risk of actually falling to his death.

He had to hold his breath to fit through the gap, and when he did, he fell face first a good five feet before finally landing, thankfully nearby the only source of light…not so thankfully atop his left wrist, which he was sure he sprained.

Jon picked up the torch and glanced around. The collapsed floor replicated the pattern of the ones above, namely a series of statues of the likeness of the Kings of Winter in a sitting position with direwolves at their feet, albeit damaged from the rubble, and swords atop their laps. He took a deep breath, missing the coldness of the yards, the heat becoming almost unbearable to the point that some of the swords were bent rather than rusted.

"This was a waste of time." He said to particularly no one.

He prepared to call it quits when a shriek interrupted him, Jon turned around, regretting that he hadn't brought his wooden sword, and hoping it was just a bat.

The creature responsible for the shriek had wings like a bat. If Jon forced things a little bit, one could see some similarities in the snout. But this was far as it went. It was larger than any bat he ever saw, with dark green scales, amber-colored eyes, and a reptilian body, soaring with its gangly wings that were a bit smaller than Jon's arms.

It was a fucking dragon.

Jon screamed like a little girl.

The dragon shrieked like one too, turning around to fly away, only to unceremoniously slam at a Stark statue and fall to the floor.

Jon blinked for a few seconds, waiting for his end to come, but it never did. Instead, the dragon shot up once again and the bastard could see that it beat his wings wildly, without any ounce of control, crashing yet again this time against a wall.

The last dragon was extinct almost a hundred and fifty years ago, or at least it was what Jon and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms thought.

The creature was small too, being the size of a badger. It dawned on Jon that before he came into the crypts the beast probably never saw any sort of light, thus being now disorientated by it. Also, its wing might have fallen into disuse as the dragon would probably have preferred to keep his feet, no, claws, on the ground in order to not collide with anything.

If someone told him he was to meet a real, living dragon, Jon would say that awe, fear, wonder, and even anger were the feelings he was supposed to experience. Yet, glancing at the small beast in front of him all Jon felt was pity.

Unsure of what to do, he decided to rest his torch on a candleholder by the walls and leave, making his trek back to the castle.

Jon saw what once was said to be extinct, by all accounts he should've felt excitement, yet all he felt was emptiness.

When Jon finally found his way back to the castle, it was already past noon. Apparently, he was still missed at Winterfell, as, according to Robb both Arya and Bran cried when he couldn't be found and even Sansa had shown signs of worry. He was scolded by his lord father accompanied by the smirking Lady Stark.

Truth be told he couldn't remember much of the scolding, nor what he said in his defense, he felt just that numb. Apparently, it was good enough, as he was allowed to eat in the kitchens and made his way back to his room.

As he predicted, sleep did not come to him easily that night. The pitiful beast remembered him of dreams long forgotten, before Theon came, before Arya and Bran were even born, before Sansa could even walk, and before Robb told him he could never be Lord of Winterfell.

When he played pretend with Robb back then, Robb always favored the knights such as Barristan the Bold and Duncan the Tall, doubtless influenced by tales told by his mother. Jon however admired the Dragonriders, the idea of flying free through the clouds commanding something capable of erasing imponent castles from history, as the Conqueror did with Harrenhal was something that always appealed to him.

Jon, despite being only nine namedays old, knew he would never ride a dragon just like he would never rule Winterfell. The bastard status tainting his name and blood, alongside his loyalty to Robb prevented him from even pretending to be Lord of Winterfell anymore, just as his lack of Targaryen blood prevented him from mounting atop a dragon and living to tell the tale.

Thus, what he considered was not as atrocious. The dragon would eventually starve, and die out. Today he had already gifted him the light, tomorrow he would bear the gift of mercy.

After his disappearance yesterday, Jon knew he would be watched closely, by Robb if not by the guards. Thankfully, Greyjoy of all people helped him, by convincing Robb to ditch Maester Luwin's lessons and go swim at the moat of Winterfell.

After finishing his lessons for the day, Jon quickly made his way back to the crypts, only stopping his descent to the lowest floor to grab a sword from his namesake's statue.

Closer inspection upon reaching the last chamber revealed that the torch left by him yesterday still burnt, but only barely. A shriek caught his attention and with a clearer head, Jon could see some things he missed, namely the reason why the dragon had yet to die from starvation. He did not know how many eggs were laid, but as of now there was only one remaining

"Don't." He managed to blurt out as the green beast prepared to eat the final dragon egg,

Much to his surprise, the dragon listened to him, stopping short of attacking his would-be sibling.

"I brought you food, just don't eat the egg." The dragon only responded to him with a curious gaze, and only relented from the attack when Jon took a few slices of beef he saved from his own meal. "Go fetch." He said, throwing the slice towards a smaller direwolf statue at the feet of a bigger Stark one.

The dragon immediately went to the food, forgetting about the egg momentarily and turning his back to Jon.

Jon readied the sword and sneaked behind the little beast, who was intently studying the beef. A single swing would do the trick, he assumed. Despite the scales, the winged beast was frail, and should the swing fail, Jon could still hack it to death by smashing its skull. Thoughts of Prince Aegon's skull being crushed by the Mountain were quickly tossed aside by the northern bastard as those made him ill.

He who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Lord father would say, bastards like him passed no sentences, but could swing a sword as well as any.

All bastards but him.

Killing a dragon would bring him unmatched glory. The sigil of House Targaryen still brought anger to both the Northmen and King Robert for Rhaegar's rape of Lyanna Stark. His aunt. Jon remembered. By presenting the corpse of a dragon to his majesty, Jon could mayhaps become the youngest knight to ever walk the kingdom. When tales were to be told, people would ignore the size of the dragon, and how Jon tricked it; yet they would remember how a boy no older than nine namedays was the one who slew it. He would be envied by Robb. He would be sitting at the high table.

Ser Jon the Dragonslayer. Has a nice ring to it.

But he couldn't. He was his father's son as much as Lady Stark wanted to deny it. He, despite his misgivings still had honor left.

There was no honor in slaying a defenseless creature who had his back turned to him.

When Robb becomes Lord of Winterfell, Sansa and Arya are married to a lord and Bran becomes a knight all he would have left is his honor. He wasn't throwing it away, even for fame and riches. He was Jon Snow as far as people cared, but he'd be damned if he lived as Jon Snow rather than Jon Stark.

He would fall to obscurity, knowledge of the last dragon to ever touch Westeros land lost to all but him. In the future the crypts would feature statues of his father, brothers and sisters, but never of him. He would die as he was born, a stain on one of the pages of a much bigger book.

Fuck them.

He would not toss his only possession aside like that.

He dropped the sword and knelt beside the dragon.

"Go on, eat it."

The beast took a cautious nibble of the beef, before promptly devouring the rest of it, causing Jon to chuckle.

"Better than your siblings, right?" he asked earning a chirp from the winged animal.

He took the remaining egg. "I'll keep this one safe, I can help one dragon grow, but not two."

That night when Jon slept, a dragon egg beside him, he for once felt like a prince. Even if he was a Targaryen one.

Feeding a dragon was no easy task, and, if Jon was honest with himself, he was sure he also botched it several times. One time he attempted to feed the dragon, who, for the time he named Eggeater, could only look incredulously at the mashed potatoes he brought.

The name, a far cry from the custom of naming dragons in Valyrian, was explained by a simple fact: Jon knew nothing of High Valyrian. Besides, he could always change the dragon's name later.

Dragons only ate cooked meat. This was proven to be a problem in the first few moons when Eggeater wasn't able to breathe fire. This meant Jon had to cut off from his own food to feed the dragon.

It was then that he realized charms and charisma could indeed help him. Being polite with Gage meant somewhat bigger servings for him, those were promptly redirected to Eggeater but Jon couldn't help but appreciate the man for that.

Having three younger siblings, Jon was somewhat used to seeing things growing before his eyes. Provided there wasn't that much of an age gap to Sansa, and both Arya and Bran still had plenty of growing up to do.

Still, nothing could compare to seeing a dragon grow, just half a year passed by and the beast had grown from the size of a small badger to the size of a sheep. He had the creature move a floor above as he feared it would eventually become too large to fit through the gap. The lowermost, non-collapsed, floor was still only visited by him, as his father, the only other person in Winterfell who constantly spent time on the crypts kept to the first floor paying his respects to Jon's grandfather Rickard, uncle Brandon and especially his aunt Lyanna.

Despite the gain in size, Eggeater was still vulnerable. He just recently learned to breathe fire and barely could fly in a straight line without crashing at something. As of now, it could barely hunt a rat. The dragon's size itself became a problem, as Jon remembered being taught that Balerion, the largest dragon to ever live in Westeros was said to cover entire cities with his wingspan.

Honestly, he didn't want to see Eggeater grow as much as Balerion, he could only imagine how much food was needed to sustain a beast that size.

Jon had grown attached to the dragon but knew that for the sake of safety, both his and the dragon's, Eggeater would be better off leaving Winterfell as quickly as possible.

As Jon celebrated his tenth nameday, Eggeater was now as big as a palfrey. Robb started to have lessons in rulership, which meant that by noon he was mostly left to his own devices.

Of the seven weekdays, Jon would hunt at the Wolfswood in three of them. He started as a lousy hunter, his skill with the bow lacking when compared to the hunters who spent years honing their skill. Thankfully, his uncle Benjen visited from the Wall a few turns of the moon ago and taught him the skills of a ranger. Jon became a good marksman, although limited by his inability to shoot at long-distance targets due to his relatively young age. When compared to others of his age group he was great, though. Riding was a different matter as Jon was proud to say he could ride as well as any man in Winterfell. It was when it came to tracking that Jon became superb, always observative, he had a knack for noticing small details and hidden things.

His uncle spoke too of the Night's Watch and some of his missions beyond the wall. It sounded to him like a place he would thrive and he started to strongly consider taking the black when he was a few namedays older.

A rustle of grass was all it took for Jon to quickly nock, draw and loose an arrow from his preferred weapon of choice when hunting: the recurved bow.

A thud was heard and the small rabbit was slain from afar.

Some lords, either Southron or Northern took pleasure in hunting. He did not. Still, it was the cycle of life, and to feed him and Eggeater Jon needed to bring meat home.

He was not foolish, he never attempted to go after bears, wolves, or even boars. His preferred targets were badgers and rabbits, although he would sometimes hunt foxes and fish for trout.

Jon decided he definitively enjoyed nature even in the frigid northern cold. It's about balance. Uncle Benjen told him. Never take more than you need and your sons will too be able to feed off the Wolfswood. He doubted he would ever have any son, but kept the advice in mind.

Mounting his pony for most of the afternoon strengthened his legs and torso. Shooting the bow calloused his hands and had his arms growing stronger. The experiences he had hunting made his mind sharper and more focused on things.

It was at the Wolfswood that Jon started the process of tempering from a small boy to a young warrior.

Of the remaining four days two were spent in the training yards where Jon reacquainted himself with his preferred companion: the sword.

The synergy between his training with the blade and his time spent in the wilds was visible to anyone. A year ago, Jon would lose seven of ten spars against either Robb or Theon, with the latter taking special pleasure in beating him. Now he beat them eight times out of ten.

Despite all the time he spent in the woods, Jon still wasn't as tall, or as strong as Robb. It made him wonder if his mother was smaller than Lady Stark. But now, Robb could no longer overwhelm him as he did before, and Jon had a natural finesse his older brother did not possess.

As skilled as any boy from White Harbor when it comes to swordplay. Jon once overheard Ser Rodrik Cassel telling his father, which caused Jon to sport a rare grin for the remainder of the day.

The sour expression Lady Stark would offer him every time she witnessed him defeating Robb may have restrained him from doing so in the past, but not anymore, if anything he relished in the glares and frowns sent his way.

Robb improved too; no doubt humbled by Jon's newfound dominance. But despite losing most of the spars now, his brother never became embittered, always accepting Jon's helping hand and patting him on the back praising his skill.

Theon was a different opponent. Stronger than Robb, most likely due to the four years age difference between the two of them, but somewhat lousy. Jon would defeat him as often as he did Robb, but mostly by exploiting flaws in his stance and using his superior speed and nimbleness.

Unlike Robb, though, Theon disliked him, something that was reciprocated by him. Still, there was a small layer of respect between the two of them, mostly for Robb's sake. Jon learned to not be angered by his taunts and Theon somewhat respected Jon's sullen behavior.

Jon also respected Theon's prowess with the bow, but that was something the Ironborn would never hear from him aloud.

The final two days of the week were spent at the library, something that greatly surprised Robb, Arya, and Theon, with the Greyjoy genuinely inquiring whether he had hit his head too hard in the previous practice.

Jon could be considered smart in some areas, but he believed that traditional knowledge was not one of them. What drove him to the library was his interest in the histories of great heroes and House Stark, besides any accounts about dragons he could find.

By delving deep into the books about dragonlore, Jon found out the origin of the eggs in the Crypts of Winterfell. Mushroom, a court fool during the early first century after the conquest, claimed through the book The Testimony of Mushroom that when Prince Jacaerys Velaryon came North to seek support for his mother's claim, his dragon, Vermax, laid a clutch of eggs in the Crypts.

Whilst the North indeed fought for the Blacks in the Dance of Dragons, most of the writers dismissed Mushroom's claims. Truth be told if Jon hadn't seen Eggeater and the unhatched egg, he too would consider these claims false. Most of his writings were about events so lewd that Jon himself blushed reading them, but two stood out for him.

The first one was the tale of Vermax's eggs in Winterfell, which he discovered to be true. The other one, which Jon felt most intrigued with, was the one describing Sara Snow, a fellow bastard said to have lived in the same castle as him, only a good hundred and sixty years apart. According to Mushroom, Prince Jacaerys not only managed to acquire support from the legendary Cregan Stark but also secretly married Cregan's sister in the godswood of Winterfell. Yet, this was the last people heard of her.

Some scholars dismissed Mushroom's claims altogether, saying there never was a Sara Snow, whilst others discredited the rumors about the marriage between the two of them.

Jon went as far as inquiring to both his father and Maester Luwin about these rumors. The Maester said that it was unlikely Sara existed, but noted that some of the writers contesting the fool's claims were loyal to the Greens and biased against the records of the Blacks. His lord father seemed more curious about Jon's sudden interest in the Dance of Dragons and the Targaryen Dynasty, but said that ultimately it was unlikely that Sara ever existed, and even if she did the odds of a child being born from the said union were next to none, as Jacaerys perished shortly afterward in the Battle in the Gullet.

Even if his research on Sara Snow was unsuccessful, Jon took a liking to books. His favorite is The Conquest of Dorne by King Daeron I. Overall, he mostly read retellings of battles and campaigns, but once in a while, he may pick some other tales.

Jon also read books on dragons, but the library in Winterfell had few of those.

His newfound interest in books surprised Arya and Robb but endeared him to his youngest brother Bran, who often asked Jon to read about knights and the children of the forest.

When Jon almost got busted, it was by Jeyne Poole of all people.

Another few moons passed by and he settled into his routine. With Eggeater being already of good enough size, Jon's main concern became teaching it to hunt, something the dragon still struggled with. He suspected the time Eggeater spent in the darkness was detrimental not only to his growth but his instincts, as it still lacked the endurance to properly hunt, still struggling in hunting away the rabbits Jon had brought into the crypts.

Recently, he started to spend more time admiring the dragon. The current affairs were not sustainable by any means, and Jon knew it. Even when not drilling the dragon in hunting Jon decided he rather liked the warmth of the crypts, and often he would spend time reading a book under the watchful eye of the beast.

"Jon, is that you?" a somewhat strident feminine voice inquired, causing his eyes to widen.

He desperately glanced at Eggeater who seemingly was as freaked out as him, nodding his head aside so he would dwell deeper into the crypt as he got up to greet the newcomer.

"Jeyne." He acknowledged, hoping his voice wasn't some sort of dead giveaway. "What brings you here?"

The girl ignored his question and looked around. "So, this is where you've been hiding."

Jon frowned. "I wasn't hiding."

"Sorry, sulking as Sansa says."

"What are you doing here, Jeyne?" he asked once again. The sooner the girl left the better, lest she may notice something off.

"Arya attacked Sansa again."

When it came to his sisters, they were opposite as day and night.

Sansa enjoyed tales of gallant knights, embroidery, was prim, proper, and insisted Jon was her half-brother.

Arya on the other hand was the wild sister, rowdy, willful, couldn't stitch to save her life, and often paid more attention to his spars with Robb than Septa Mordane's lessons. Also, she made it clear he was her favorite brother, something that never failed to bring a smile to his face

Needless to say, the two sisters were constantly at each other's throats.

He, alongside his father and Lady Stark, was one of the few people who could play peacemaker when they got on these kinds of spats. Sansa by herself was somewhat easy to deal with, Arya however…

Jon doubted Jeyne was telling him the whole story. She was attached to the hip with Sansa and he was almost sure there were some details untold to favor the elder sister. But this was also a chance to get Jeyne away from the crypts and Eggeater, so he went along. "Take me to them."

The image of a much smaller Arya manhandling Sansa was somewhat amusing. The dark-haired sister was fending off Sansa's attempts to disengage with relative easiness, whilst pulling locks of her auburn hair, hard. Ouch.

He sighed and stepped between the two of them. "That's enough, break it up." He quickly overwhelmed Arya's grip, releasing her hands from Sansa's hair whilst stepping in front of the elder sister.

Arya glared at him, whilst Sansa had tears in her eyes.

"What happened?"

"Arya assaulted me."

Jon raised his eyebrow. "Arya?"

"She made fun of me."

Another eyebrow rose. "Sansa?"

"I said she should pay more attention to the Septa's teachings. She dresses as a street urchin and is rude to everyone."

Jon sighed. "Sansa, we are different. If people dressed and acted the same the world would be a boring place." If the slight lowering of the head was any indicator it seemed that Sansa agreed with his last statement.

At Aryas's triumphant snort, Jon continued. "Arya, you can't assault people for any perceived insult. Your sister was just attempting to look out for you."

"Sansa is stupid." Was the dark-haired sister's eloquent reply.

Before Sansa could reply in kind, he held up a hand. "See, you insulted her and Sansa did not attack you. Besides, if she is stupid so am I."

Arya, only four namedays old bit her lip. Jon knelt and hugged her. "We all are stupid sometimes, even you." He accentuated with a bop on her nose.

"HEY!" Arya yelled but was smiling nonetheless.

Although he made his utmost effort to not make things too apparent, Arya too was his favorite sister. It was much easier to love someone who acknowledged him than someone who didn't. Besides, she had this trick to make her eyes seem bigger that never failed in swaying him to her side.

"Apologize to your sister." Jon said.


He was sighing a lot more than normal today. "Apologize to your sister and I'll play with you."

Playing with Arya most often than not meant walking through Winterfell and being beaten with a stick by her.

Arya then glanced at Sansa. "I'm sorry for attacking you."

Jon knew she was lying but he didn't point it out. Sansa seemed satisfied enough with the apology.

"Go on." He said to the younger sister. "I'll join you in a minute."

"Thanks." Sansa said in almost a whisper as soon as Arya went away.

"Don't mention it." He turned to look at the auburn-haired sister. She no longer had tears in her eyes. "Are you fine? Arya is very strong for her age."

Sansa nodded shily.

His relationship with Sansa was like this; frosty. She was polite but never gave him any sort of openness. He wished things would change, but he was a Snow, not a Stark. And Sansa would never be his sister.

"Take care, Sansa."

Jon knew it was time to say his goodbyes when he took the dragon to the Wolfswood.

Ever since his scare with Jeyne, he focused almost the entirety of his free time training Eggeater.

Jon now could not call him that it seemed.

He started sneaking out at night or sometimes waking up at dusk so he could take the dragon to the nearby forest. It was easily frightened at first, probably overwhelmed by the multitude of life surrounding him.

But like Jon, the beast started to thrive. The first step was about navigating the unknown territory. This was the one that took longer, but once the dragon managed to maintain steady flight, he no longer crashed at the trees' branches and could see the forest from above.

After achieving control of the skies, the next step consisted of spotting the target. This one was straightforward, Eggeater spend a considerable amount of time in the darkness of the crypts and could spot animals as small as rabbits from way above.

The final, and hardest step was to show Jon it could indeed survive by himself. Hunting in silence was hard, due to the beast's size. But it was needed, if he was too loud, or left marks people would eventually notice. And, when they did, the King would be sending men to finish the extinction of the dragons. He wanted no part in the killing of either dragon or men, thus Eggeater was best served as far away from human life as possible.

Previously, he had brought Jon prey such as foxes, boars, wolves, and treecats. Now he brought him a stag. A huge one at that.

As he watched the dragon roast the meat, he knew it was time to say goodbye. The truth is that Jon didn't know how.

So, he just left.

A shadow blocked the moonlight, and Jon sighed.

"We must part our ways here."

The dragon gazed at him with his amber-colored eyes.

"You can't stay in the North. Nor in any of the six kingdoms. Dragons brought many things to our land…including death. People would notice and then hunt you. I don't want you to get killed, nor want people to get killed by you."

The dragon attempted to follow him once again.

"Go further north, past a wall made of pure ice, stay away from men."

It blinked at him and Jon felt encouraged to touch the dragon, something that he has never done before.

Its scales were hard and Jon felt heat emanating towards his palm. "Ebrion. You don't eat eggs anymore, thus I shall call you Ebrion."

Night sky. A fitting name for a dragon who mainly hunted at night.

"Now go forth, Ebrion."

The renamed dragon gave him a last look and took off.

"I'll never forget you." The bastard said after the dragon was already gone.

That night, when he slept, he dreamt of flying far away.