Dance of The Dragonwolf

A Crying Dragon

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Chapter 52, Chapter 53, Chapter 54, Chapter 55, Chapter  56, Chapter 57, Chapter 58, Chapter 59, Chapter 60, Chapter 61, Chapter 62, Chapter 63, Chapter 64, Chapter 65, Chapter 66, Chapter 67, Chapter 68, and Chapter 69 are already available for Patrons.

Sara Stark

'Deeper, deeper, Sara Stark. Deeper,'

Sara ventured deeper into the crypts, her breath steady despite the growing darkness. The air was damp, the silence thick. Suddenly, her foot caught on something, and she stumbled, sending the lantern tumbling from her grasp. In an instant, the crypt was swallowed by darkness, but she felt no fear. Darkness was her friend. The fire was what truly terrified her.

"Ow!" she muttered, rubbing her forehead, feeling the warmth of blood trickling down her skin. A sudden footstep echoed in the silence, making her freeze.

"Who's there? Father, is that you?" she shouted, her voice quivering as her eyes darted toward the sound. The silence felt oppressive, and then, light pierced the darkness. A lantern floated toward her, casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. It stopped five feet away, blinding her momentarily. As she squinted, she saw the figure holding it—a man she didn't recognize.

"Who are you?" Sara asked warily, rising to her feet and backing away, her heart racing.

"I apologize if I startled you, dear child," the man said softly, his voice calm and reassuring. "Please, forgive me."

Sara didn't know why, but she felt she could trust him, yet a strange sense of recognition hit her. She was certain that she had seen this man before.

"...Do I know you?" Sara asked hesitantly, leaning in slightly to get a better look at his face.

The man smiled kindly, the warmth of it reaching his eyes. "Yes, we have met once before. As for who I am... just a kind old man."

"An old man?" she repeated, her brow furrowing as she studied him. His features were unfamiliar.

His long, flowing robes of deep maroon with subtle hints of yellow and red draped elegantly over his form. The wide sleeves hung loosely around his arms, and a dark sash cinched the fabric at his waist. His long, gray hair was neatly pulled into a bun atop his head, while a well-trimmed beard and mustache framed his serene expression.

"What do you want?" she asked, though her voice held less suspicion than before.

Sara was confused how she had never seen him before; his choice of clothing would stand out like a sore thumb in the North, but Sara reminded herself that this old man was in the Crypts of Winterfell, a place only for Starks.

"You need to leave, or I will call father. This place is not for you, and how do you get into Winterfell, what do you want?" Sara demanded, her voice tense, eyes narrowing with suspicion. Her hand instinctively moved to the small blade hidden in her dress. She knew how to use it, even against an old man, if need be.

The stranger remained calm, his gentle smile unwavering. "Forgive me for being here, Lady Sara. I know this place is for Starks only, and I respect that. I only wish to have a talk with you, and I will be on my way." The old man said with the same gentle smile.

Sara knew she should not trust strangers, but this man was different. She couldn't help but feel like she could trust him somehow. She was sure she had never seen him before, and yet, he felt familiar to her.