CASTLE BLACK – TRAINING YARD – MOMENTS LATER
Jon pushed himself up from the snow, face still burning. His hand dug into the cold ground.
Behind him, laughter continued.
Boots shuffled past.
Then—
A shove.
Rast.
"Out the way, Snow," he snorted, brushing past with a grin.
The others laughed with him, walking back toward the garrison, wooden swords slung over their shoulders.
Jon looked at their backs.
Silent.
Not pleased.
Then—
A hand.
Held out in front of him.
He looked up.
Toru.Beside him stood Renji, arms folded, silent.
Jon hesitated—then took the hand.
Toru helped him up with one strong pull.
"That was good, Snow," he said, voice flat but not cold. "But don't let your guard down."
Jon gave a small nod.
Said nothing.
He didn't expect to be the one in the snow.Not after putting the others there.
Toru turned. Walked.
Renji followed without a word.
Jon fell in behind them.
....
CASTLE BLACK – GARRISON HALL – SHORTLY AFTER
The others were already there—Rast, Grenn, Pyp.
Laughter had faded.
Now they sat or leaned, glancing toward the entrance as Jon walked in with the other two behind him.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody mocked him.
They all felt it—the quiet pressure of the two newcomers. Toru and Renji didn't move like recruits. Didn't carry themselves like boys from farms.
They watched.
And were watched.
Jon moved to his place. Set his sword back on the rack.
Silence lingered.
Then—
A voice.
Bright. Dry.
"Well. That was a lovely little dance out there."
Tyrion Lannister.
He stepped into the hall, boots wet with snow, fur cloak heavy on his shoulders.
Jon looked up. So did a few others.
Toru and Renji didn't linger.
They placed their training swords back where they belonged, nodded once, and turned to leave.
Tyrion gave them a glance as they passed.
Raised a brow.
But said nothing.
They were already gone.
---------------------------
GUEST PALACE – DAENERYS' CHAMBER – NIGHT
The dragon eggs rested on velvet, nestled in their box near the brazier.
Faint warmth shimmered in the air around them.
Caesar sat on the edge of the bed, one leg propped, elbow on his knee.
His gaze stayed on the eggs.
But his thoughts were elsewhere.
The chamber door creaked open.
Daenerys stepped inside, her personal attendants at her side.
Caesar turned only slightly, enough to glance at them.
They bowed and exited quietly.
Daenerys paused by the door, startled for a heartbeat.
She hadn't expected him.
Alone.
In her room.
At this hour.
But Caesar didn't react.
He didn't move.
Still seated. Still staring at the eggs.
She saw the sorrow in his face before he turned away again.
Hesitating, she walked to him.
Slower than usual.
She sat beside him, unsure.
Silence sat with them.
Then Caesar spoke—quiet, low.
"Little Queen," he said.
"I'm sorry to leave you halfway in the market like that."
She shook her head faintly.
"It's… it's all right."
But her words didn't carry well.
They stumbled on air.
He didn't respond.
His gaze was still far away.
She looked at his face, studied it.
The heaviness. The distraction.
Tentatively, she reached out.
Her fingers touched his cheek, gently moved his face to hers.
"You look sad," she said, voice soft, unsure if she should've said it.
He didn't argue.
He laid his hand over hers, warm against small fingers.
"…It's okay," he said quietly. As if agreeing with her. As if admitting something had cracked inside.
She asked, "Why?"
No answer.
Instead, he shifted.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
And laid his head on her lap.
Daenerys froze for a second.
Her breath caught.
But she didn't move away.
After a moment, she let her fingers glide into his hair.
Soft. Black. Warm from the firelight.
His breath slowed.
Sleep took him.
And she kept running her hand through his hair.
....
GUEST PALACE – DAENERYS' CHAMBER – MORNING
Sunlight filtered in through the arched windows.
The fire in the brazier was low now. The dragon eggs still lay quiet.
On the bed, Caesar stirred.
Daenerys slept beside him—her head resting on his arm.
Her face turned slightly toward him.
Eyes closed. Peaceful.
He looked at her.
Watched.
Didn't realize how long he had been staring until movement caught his eye.
Her attendants stood near the doorway.
Waiting.
He blinked.
Then asked, voice low, "It's time?"
They nodded.
At the sound of his voice, Daenerys stirred.
She opened her eyes slowly.
Looked at him.
He looked back.
And said gently—
"Good morning, Little Queen.".
----------------------
WINTERFELL – BRAN'S BEDCHAMBER – NIGHT
The room was quiet.
Only the fire cracked gently in the hearth.
Catelyn Stark sat near the bedside, her hands slowly working over a small straw doll.
One of Bran's. Torn at the shoulder.
But her mind wasn't on the stitching.
Her eyes stayed distant. Red-rimmed. Unblinking.
The door creaked.
She jumped.
Maester Luwin stepped inside with careful steps, stopping just over the threshold.
He gave a respectful bow.
She glanced at him, then turned her gaze back to the doll—kept stitching.
Luwin walked to the bedside.
He placed a hand softly on Bran's forehead.
The boy didn't move.
The Maester looked at her.
"It's time we reviewed the accounts, my lady. You'll want to know how much this royal visit has cost us."
Catelyn didn't answer.
Her fingers kept to the doll.
"Talk to Poole about it," she said softly.
Luwin took a breath.
"Poole went south with Lord Stark, my lady."
Catelyn paused.
She lifted her head—just slightly.
Her eyes were wet.
Luwin's voice stayed calm.
"We need a new steward. And there are several other appointments that require our immediate attention—"
"I don't care about appointments," she snapped.
It wasn't loud.
But it was sharp. Raw.
A pause.
Then—
"I'll make the appointments," came another voice.
Robb.
He stepped through the doorway, quiet but firm.
Sixteen and already carrying the weight of a Lord.
He looked to Luwin.
"We'll talk about it first thing in the morning."
Luwin nodded.
"Very good, my Lord."
He turned toward Catelyn with a soft bow.
"My Lady."
Then left the room.
Robb moved to the window.
He opened the shutters—cold wind slipping through.
"When was the last time you left this room?" he asked.
Catelyn didn't answer right away.
"I have to take care of him," she said at last.
Robb didn't look back.
"He's not going to die, Mother. Maester Luwin says the most dangerous time has passed."
"What if he's wrong?" she said quickly. "Bran needs me."
Robb's voice came back hard.
"Rickon needs you."
Catelyn froze.
"He's six. He doesn't know what's happening. He follows me around all day, clutching my leg, crying…"
The room went still.
Then—
A distant howl.
Then another.
Wolves.
Louder. Closer.
Catelyn flinched.
Tears started to form again.
"Close the windows," she said, shaking.
"I can't stand it. Please make them stop…"
But Robb was already looking outside.
"Fire," he said. "You stay here. I'll come back."
He turned—ran.
Catelyn stood.
Walked to the window.
She saw it.
Orange flames flickering against the night.
Then—
A shift behind her.
She turned.
A hooded man stood in the room.
His voice was low. Cold.
"You're not supposed to be here. No one is supposed to be here."
He drew the dagger as he said "It's a mercy. He's dead already.".
Moved for Bran's bed.
Catelyn screamed—stepped forward.
Then—
THWIP—
An arrow tore through the man's back.
Straight through the heart.
The assassin dropped.
Dead.
Catelyn stared.
A young unknown
castle guard rushed into the room, bow in hand.
"My lady, are you hurt?" he asked quickly.
She shook her head. Still breathing hard.
"…Thank you."
The guard lowered his bow. Eyes sharp.
Catelyn looked down at the dead man.
The knife had dropped beside him.
She stared at it.
Then looked at Bran.
Still asleep. Still alive.
But the danger had come.
And nearly taken him.
But not knowing another danger got closer to her.
[
🐉 Guys! The dragon eggs have finally hatched in Chapter 59!Get ready — the next chapter is flying your way soon!
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The fire and blood! 🔥
]