Dragon Hidden in the Wolf's Shadow - Chapter - 109

The grand hall of the Red Keep was buzzing with noise and movement. Petitioners lined the walls, their whispers and murmurs mixing with the clattering of armor as guards kept order. Jon Targaryen, the newly crowned King of Westeros, sat upon the Iron Throne, listening with weary patience as a small lord from the Stormlands complained about a border dispute.

Jon’s hand rested on the arm of the throne, his fingers tapping lightly as he nodded, giving small, calculated responses. To his right, Samwell Tarly, now his Hand, took careful notes, his quill scratching against parchment.

“I understand your grievance, Lord Carrow,” Jon said, his voice calm and steady. “The lands you speak of were claimed by your family generations ago, but Lord Thorne has documents proving otherwise. We will send men to investigate the claim and judge fairly. You have my word.”

Lord Carrow hesitated, looking at Sam for reassurance. The Hand nodded, and the lord bowed deeply before retreating.

As the next petitioner approached, Jon let out a barely audible sigh. It had been like this for weeks. Endless disputes, complaints, and demands. The war was over, but now the struggle of ruling had begun.

Sam leaned in. “Your Grace, would you like a break? We can continue the petitions after you’ve rested.”

Jon shook his head. “If I stop now, it will only pile up. We must continue. Have you heard any word from Moat Cailin?”

“None yet, Your Grace,” Sam replied, glancing at the list. “But it’s a long journey from the North. They’ll be here soon.”

Just as Jon was about to call the next petitioner, a sudden commotion broke out near the entrance of the hall. The massive doors creaked open, and a pair of direwolves bounded in, causing gasps and murmurs among the gathered lords. Ghost, with his gleaming white coat, moved silently, while Shadow, dark as night, padded confidently by his side.

Following them, Hilda and Val entered, both dressed in travel leathers but still holding an undeniable regal presence. Val’s golden hair was braided back, and Hilda’s dark hair flowed freely. They paused at the threshold, scanning the room.

Jon’s stern expression softened immediately. He rose from the throne, descending the steps as Ghost and Shadow made their way to him, nuzzling against his hands.

“Hilda, Val,” he greeted, his voice a mixture of relief and joy.

The gathered lords made way as the queens approached, Hilda giving a quick, warm smile while Val’s eyes held a mischievous glint.

“We thought we’d never make it,” Hilda said, her voice touched with amusement. “The roads are crowded, and every village wanted to celebrate your victory.”

Val nodded. “We had to stop at least ten times just to reassure them that the King was well and thriving.”

Jon couldn’t help but smile. “It’s good to see you both. You’ve brought the wolves with you.”

Hilda chuckled. “They refused to stay behind. Shadow almost tore down the stables when we tried to leave him.”

Val reached out, stroking Ghost’s head. “They’ve been restless without you.”

Jon looked down at his direwolves, their eyes bright and attentive. “I’ve missed them,” he admitted. He then turned to Sam. “Sam, have rooms prepared for my wives. They must be exhausted from the journey.”

Sam nodded, bowing to the queens. “At once, Your Grace.”

As the lords murmured their greetings and congratulations to the queens, Jon led Hilda and Val to a quieter corner.

“How’s Moat Cailin?” he asked, his tone more relaxed now that they were together.

“It’s thriving,” Val replied. “The council you left behind manages well. Vorran keeps order, and the people have taken to the new trade routes you established.”

Hilda leaned in closer. “But the North misses its king. People talk of your deeds, your victories. They say you’re more than just a ruler—you’re a legend now.”

Jon scoffed lightly. “A legend who sits in meetings all day,” he muttered.

Val smirked. “We’ll help. We didn’t just come here to be ornaments by your side. You need support, and we’ll share the burden.”

Jon looked between them, gratitude evident in his eyes. “I couldn’t ask for better partners.”

Ghost nudged Jon’s leg, and he knelt to pet the wolf. Shadow circled Hilda, almost protectively.

“When things settle, I want to give Moat Cailin to one of our future children,” Jon said thoughtfully. “It’s too important to just leave it without strong leadership. But for now, I need you both here.”

Hilda raised an eyebrow. “Planning ahead already? You’ve always been one to look to the future.”

Jon gave a small nod. “I have to. The war may be over, but the work is just beginning. Ruling is more exhausting than fighting, and I need your support.”

Val placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll always be by your side, Jon. Just don’t forget to rest once in a while.”

Hilda smirked. “And eat. You look like you’ve been surviving on bread and water.”

Jon chuckled. “You know me too well. Let’s get some proper food and catch up. I want to hear everything about your journey.”


The afternoon sun streamed through the windows of the royal chambers in the Red Keep. Jon sat at his desk, surrounded by stacks of letters and reports from across the realm. Hilda and Val were both present, helping to sort through the endless correspondence.

A knock at the door drew Jon's attention. Sam entered, carrying a sealed letter. "Your Grace, this just arrived from the Iron Islands. It bears Theon Greyjoy's seal.

Jon raised an eyebrow, taking the letter from Sam. He glanced at his wives, who gave him a curious look. Breaking the seal, Jon unfolded the parchment and began reading. His expression turned grim as his eyes moved across the page.

Hilda noticed the change in his demeanor. "What does it say?"

Jon sighed and handed the letter to Sam. "It's from Theon. He’s asking for help. It seems the situation in the Iron Islands is worse than we thought."

Sam skimmed through the letter, his brow furrowing. "It says here that Theon returned to claim his title as Lord of the Iron Islands, only to find his father dead and his sister missing. Euron Greyjoy now rules, and Theon fears that if Euron learns of his presence, he'll kill him."

Val leaned against the window frame, her arms crossed. "So, Theon went back to the islands and found them more dangerous than ever. Typical Ironborn politics."

Jon nodded. "He's asking for aid. He says he's hiding among the sailors, trying to gather information without revealing his identity. Euron's grip on the islands is tight, and Theon doesn't know what happened to Asha."

Sam glanced up. "What will you do, Your Grace? The Iron Islands are isolated, and Euron is not someone to take lightly."

Jon sighed, rubbing his temples. "I owe Theon. Despite everything he's done, he fought for me during the war, and he’s suffered enough. I won’t abandon him now."

Hilda approached, placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder. "You’re not one to leave your people behind. But how do you plan to help him without starting another conflict?"

Jon looked out the window thoughtfully. "We need information first. I’ll write back, telling Theon to continue hiding and gathering intel. If Euron suspects anything, it could end badly for him."

Val nodded. "But Theon can’t stay hidden forever. If Euron catches even a hint that the rightful heir is back, he’ll kill him outright."

Sam cleared his throat. "Perhaps we could send a small force under the guise of traders or diplomats. They can enter the Iron Islands discreetly and link up with Theon. Once we know more, we can plan our next move."

Jon considered it. "That could work. I can send a few trusted men. They'll go as merchants or sailors, blend in, and find Theon. Once we know what happened to Asha and gauge Euron’s strength, we’ll decide how to act."

Hilda gave him a thoughtful look. "What if Asha is already dead? If Euron killed his own kin, that would give us a stronger reason to intervene."

Jon clenched his jaw. "We can't assume anything. Theon's message doesn't confirm anything about Asha's fate. If she’s alive, she could be an ally. If not... then we’ll hold Euron accountable."

Val crossed her arms. "Ironborn don't bend the knee easily, even if they hate their ruler. We need to know how loyal they are to Euron before making any moves."

Jon turned to Sam. "Prepare a reply. Tell Theon to keep gathering information, but stay hidden. I'll send a small group to find him. And tell him... he’s not alone."

Sam nodded, already scribbling notes. "I’ll draft the letter immediately."

Hilda gave Jon a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder. "You always find a way. Theon needs hope right now. He needs to know you’re not giving up on him."

Jon looked at the letter once more, his mind racing with plans. "The Iron Islands have always been a thorn in the realm. If Euron is as dangerous as the stories say, we’ll have to tread carefully. But I won’t let Theon face this alone."

Val gave a small, approving smile. "You’re a good man, Jon. Always loyal to your friends."

Jon gave a faint smile. "Sometimes, loyalty is all we have."

As Sam left to draft the reply, Jon glanced at his wives. "We’ll take it one step at a time. If Euron thinks he can rule the Iron Islands unchecked, he’s wrong. I’ll make sure the Ironborn know who the true ruler of Westeros is."

Hilda leaned in, whispering, "And if it comes to it... will you fight for Theon?"

Jon met her gaze, unwavering. "If Euron threatens my people, I’ll put an end to him. The Iron Islands need a leader, not a madman."

Val grinned. "I’ll prepare the scouts. We’ll send our best. Theon's not going to fight this alone."

Jon looked at the letter one more time before placing it on the table. "Hold on, Theon. Help is coming."


Jon stood by the window in his chambers, watching the sun dip below the horizon. The weight of the crown pressed heavily on his brow, not because of its physical weight but because of the countless decisions that demanded his attention.

Val entered the room, carrying a tray of bread and cheese. "You haven't eaten, Jon," she said, placing the tray on the table.

Jon gave her a tired smile. "Too much on my mind. The Ironborn... they're like a pack of weasels that won't submit."

Hilda walked in behind her, carrying a pitcher of water. "What are you planning to do with them? The Ironborn don’t bend easily. They’re as stubborn as the rocks they live on."

Jon nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Exactly. I’ve been thinking about it. Even if we somehow manage to take the Iron Islands by force, keeping them loyal will be impossible. They’ll just keep rebelling. The only way to rule them is to put someone they might respect on the throne—someone who knows both the Ironborn ways and the ways of the mainland."

Jon continued. "Theon has many flaws, but he understands right from wrong. He's lived in Westeros long enough to see that the ways of the Ironborn aren't sustainable. He grew up with us. He knows loyalty, even if he’s failed at it before. More importantly, his morality has been shaped differently than other Ironborn. If we have to deal with the Iron Islands, it’s better to have Theon ruling than Euron."

Hilda crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. "And what of Euron? He won't just hand over the lordship."

"That’s the point," Jon replied with a smirk. "I’m going to send a letter to Euron, commanding him to come and bend the knee. But it won't just be any letter—it will be insulting, provocative, and enough to make him furious."

Val raised an eyebrow. "You’re intentionally provoking him?"

Jon nodded. "If he refuses to bend the knee, it's an act of rebellion. That gives me a reason to deal with him openly. If he comes and bends the knee willingly, I'll be forced to acknowledge him as the rightful lord of the Iron Islands. I can't risk that. But I know Euron—he’s prideful, unpredictable, and he won't take an insult lightly."

Hilda smiled wryly. "You’re clever. If you make it sound like a challenge to his pride, he’ll never submit."

Jon moved to his desk, pulling out a parchment. He dipped his quill in ink and began writing.

"To Euron Greyjoy,
The Iron Islands have long been a thorn in the side of Westeros, ruled by those who refuse to move beyond their primitive ways. Your people raid and plunder while the rest of the realm advances. Your so-called Drowned God has done nothing but drown your ambitions.
I, Jon Targaryen, rightful King of Westeros, command you to come to King's Landing and bend the knee. Prove that the Ironborn are not just savages clinging to outdated traditions. Or will you cower on your rock, fearing to face a true king?
If you refuse, you will be declared a traitor, and I will come to the Iron Islands personally to strip you of your title.
Your King,
Jon Targaryen"

Jon read the letter aloud to Val and Hilda, who both exchanged approving glances.

Val grinned. "That should do it. Euron won’t be able to resist that challenge."

Hilda nodded. "But how will you deliver it? Any messenger we send will likely end up dead."

Jon smirked. "That’s why I’m not sending my men. I’ll send some of the Lannister prisoners we captured after the war. They’re expendable, and it will send another message—Euron can deal with the remnants of the Lannisters if he wishes."

Val laughed. "Brilliant. Even if they’re killed, it’s no loss to us."

Jon sealed the letter with his sigil and handed it to a squire. "Find the Lannister prisoners—those who survived the purges. Offer them a chance at freedom if they deliver this to the Iron Islands."

The squire bowed and left the room. Hilda gave Jon a playful nudge. "You really do think ahead, don’t you?"

Jon sighed. "I have to. The Ironborn are wild and unpredictable. But if I can provoke Euron into defying me publicly, then I can deal with him without repercussions from the other lords. The Iron Islands need stability, and the only way to get that is through someone who knows both worlds."

Val leaned in and kissed his cheek. "You always find a way. But be careful. Euron is dangerous. If he sees through your plan, he might retaliate."

Jon nodded. "I know. But I've faced worse. And if Euron wants a fight, he’ll find that Westeros is no longer his playground."

As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, Jon looked out at the darkening sky. The letter was sent, the plan in motion. Now, it was a waiting game—waiting for Euron’s reaction, waiting for news from the Iron Islands, and waiting to see if Theon survived the brewing storm.