What If Jon Snow Hatched a Dragon Egg

What if Jon Snow hatched a dragon egg? Let's explore the depths of it in the video. 2500 likes and we'll put out the finale. Jon doesn't know why he decided to go to the Winterfell crypts. Perhaps because he knows he's leaving soon, so he wishes to see everything Winterfell has to offer one last time. Or perhaps he's there hoping for guidance from the Stark's long past. He certainly needs it. As the boy considers his state in life now. He wanders through the empty halls staring at the statues of the great Stark's long past. Brandon the builder, Craig and Stark, Rickard Stark, all of them stand before him, and he shares their features. Though Ned Stark has claimed him as his own, he knows that this doesn't change a thing to Lady Catelyn or most people. To them, he will always be just a bastard. That is why he decided to go to the Night's Watch. He glances at the statue in front of him, the one belonging to old Craig Stark. the hand of the uncrowned king. Jon stares at the statue and is about to leave when he notices something from the corner of his eye. His gaze drops to the base of the statue where loose dirt and crumbled stone gather in the cracks of the floor, just under the rusted long sword at the statue's feet. A flicker of curiosity takes hold. Jon kneels, brushing away the debris, his fingers meeting something hard and smooth beneath the dust. He exhales sharply. It's not stone. It's not bone. Carefully, he digs his fingers around the edge and pries it free. The object is heavier, larger than his hands can fully grasp. Its surface rigid like scales. Even beneath the dust and grime, he can tell this is something ancient, something powerful. He takes it to his father, who has Maester Leuen inspect it. The old scholar's eyes widen at the sight of it. He doesn't seem ignorant to the item, though. In fact, he seems all too aware of what it is. A dragon egg, fossilized and lost to the sands of time. But how in this seven did it end up here? You say it was under Kra Stark statue. It was said that Kra rode south to aid the dragon queen during the dance of the dragons. Perhaps this was given to him as a gift by his son. It is possible. I have heard no such records of that happening, and yet here it remains. What shall we do with it? Do There is nothing to do with it, my boy. Its dragon has long since died. Today, it has no further use than any other stone. It is certainly more valuable than a regular stone, I will grant you. Perhaps we may sell it or leave it on display in the Winterfell Library. May I keep it, father, as a keepsake to Winterfell? Ned does not answer right away. He frowns and rubs his chin. While this might have just been a coincidence to them who didn't know of Jon's parentage, this doesn't sit right with him. First, they find those direwolves, and now Jon discovers a dragon egg. This has to be a sign of some sort. Whatever it might be, Ned does not like it. But he also knows better than to challenge it very well. But be careful with it, John. The Night's Watch is not Winterfell. Many may comfort such a treasure. Ensure that you guard it with your life. It may be of some use to you. I will, father. Thank you. Jon's arrival to Castle Black instantly becomes the talk of the Nights Watch. It is the first time in many years since a member of a great house arrives to serve their order, and the first time any have brought something as valuable as that egg. Even those who dislike Jon find themselves fascinated by the egg, taking any opportunity to look at it. But Jon heeds his father's words and guards it closely, never letting it out of his sight. Yet perhaps the person most fascinated by it is Maester Aean. The elderly caretaker of Castle Black takes an immediate interest in it, regularly inviting Jon to his tower to study it. Although Jon knows Maester Aean only brings him there to look at the egg, he doesn't mind as it gives him a chance to get away from his duties. The maester does take a liking to Jon and the two spend long hours talking about dragons and their creation. Aman seems to have an incredibly strong knowledge of them, talking about their use by the Targaryenss and even during the times of Valyria. Jon notices how passionately he speaks on the topic, almost as if he was there when they were raised and they were a part of him. Please take no offense that I keep bringing you here, my boy. It is just that a dragon egg. It has been long since I have touched one. You've seen one before? I once during the reign of Aegon V. He spent a fortune purchasing a clutch of these eggs in hopes of hatching them. You think it's real? Oh, it's real. But whether it still holds life, that is another matter. Dragons were not simply born, Jon. They required a force beyond mortal understanding. Fire alone was not enough. It was said that only sacrifice could bring them into this world. We didn't just lose the dragon wars. We lost them when the Targaryenss allowed themselves to grow. Decadent, seeing themselves as kings in protective second, they forgot what sacrifice means. Sacrifice, blood, John. Fire and blood. To become a dragon rider requires blood and sacrifice, a responsibility few can bear. The talks of blood sacrifices and dragons soon disappear. As Jon focuses his attention on his training, he proves to be a skillful fighter and a promising recruit, finding friends and forging ties. For weeks, Jon pushes the thoughts away, burying it beneath his daily duties. But that is until they find the bodies of some of Benjen Stark's party. They are found only a short walk from the wall, far too close to make sense, and with unnatural blue eyes. Still, they take the bodies back to Castle Black to give a proper funeral. That night, the corpses rise. Jon wakes to the sound of screaming. He bolts from his cot, hand reaching for his sword. His shadows move in the dim torch light. The dead man are standing, their vacant eyes gleaming blue, their mouths twist and silent snarls. They lash out, clawing at the brothers of the Night's Watch, throwing them aside like ragdolls. Chaos erupts. Swords swing, torches crash to the ground, and the cold bites deeper than ever before. Jon fights, his breath ragged, his blade flashing in the dim firelight. He shoves his sword through the White's chest as it approaches Jerro Mormont's chamber. His thrust is true, but it does not fall. It does not bleed. Only fire ends them as Jon shoves a torch in its face, ending the creature. When the battle ends, the courtyard is slick with blood and ash as it takes six men to hack down the second white. And now Jon stands among the dead. He hears men whispering in the dark. They whisper of how unnatural those things were, how fire can only protect them. Suddenly, the wildlings's obsession with burning their dead makes sense. Suddenly, the idea of waking a dragon no longer seems like madness. But Aean, when he hears the murmurss, only shakes his head. His voice is heavy with sorrow when he warns Jon and Jor. There are ways to wake dragons. Yes, but those ways are vile, Jon. They are not meant for men of honor. [ __ ] honor. A dead man almost killed me. And there might be more of them coming unless we do something. Benton Stark is out there. And though I pray to the old gods that he didn't end up like that lot, we must prepare for that possibility. Jon swallows hard, his fingers tightening around the egg. Somewhere deep in his chest, a terrible question takes root. Yet the egg does not hatch. They try everything. Placing it in the hottest fires the blacksmiths can forge. Burying it in the embers of a great p. Even doussing it with oil and setting it a light beneath the full moon. Nothing works. The egg remains cold and lifeless. Yet, true to Master Ammon's words, fire alone is not enough to birth a dragon. It requires something more, a sacrifice of blood. Days turn to weeks, and the idea of hatching a dragon becomes a whispered joke among the brothers. But not all of them laugh. Some remember the tales Master Aman spoke of, the truth buried beneath the legends of old Valyria. At first, they recoil. Even among murderers and thieves, some lines are not easily crossed. But desperation is a slow burning fire, and fear is a greater fuel than honor. The wall has failed them once. The whites will return, and if fire is their only salvation, what price is too high to pay? Perhaps. But these records talk of sacrificing men. Are you prepared to put one of our brothers on the p? The suggestion comes from Sir Alistister. The desertters. The man who flees from his brothers is already dead. What does it matter how he meets his end? They already have a man prepared. An old man who once served as a steward for many years. Yet he had fled during the last White attack and has dragged the godswood beyond the wall. where the werewood trees stand like a pale spectre in the frozen night, their faces twisting in condemnation at the man. The egg is placed in a pit of burning coals, its dark shell glowing faintly red. The deserter does not beg. He only curses them with his last breath before Alistair slits his throat. The blood spills over the egg. For a moment, nothing happens. The fire crackles, the wind howls through the trees, and the brothers shift uneasily. But then a sound, a low cracking noise, deep and hollow, like ice splitting on a frozen lake. The egg shifts. The shell fractures, a jagged line splitting down its side. Smoke rises from within, curling into the night air. And then with a final sharp crack, the egg breaks apart and something stirs within the embers. A dragon. Small, no larger than a hound. Its scales are black as a starless sky. Its eyes silver like the heart of winter. It lifts its head, blinking against the firelight, then lets out a shrill, keening cry. The brothers step back in awe, some muttering prayers, others gripping their swords as if afraid. But Jon steps forward, drawn to the creature by something deeper than instinct. The dragon regards him for a long moment, then moves towards him, curling its tail around his leg, nuzzling against his hand. It is bound to him. I'll name it Frostfire. But as they try to take it back to Castle Black, the dragon does not come. When they try to put it through the gate, it hisses and howls as if in pain. It rears back, screeching in distress. The wall's magic does not permit it to pass. No matter how they try, the beast will not cross. It scratches at anyone who tries to drag it across, and they fear it might kill itself in the effort. They discover the wall's secret. It is a creature of the north, of the frozen lands beyond the wall, a dragon of ice and darkness. Instead, they leave it in the godswood with rangers toading to care for it. Jon visits it every day to provide food for it and tend to it. The dragon ages quickly, growing larger thanks to their care. Though it is far from ideal, the Night's Watch spirit lifts. They have done the impossible, awaking a creature long thought dead. For the first time ever, these men feel proud to serve the Night's Watch. But while others lose themselves in the excitement, Aman considers the full implications of this revelation. A dragon has not been seen in centuries, and man has forgotten what that means. To tame one like this requires the blood of a dragon. For it to bond so quickly with Jon means that he is more than a simple bastard of Ned Stark. He is a creature of fire and blood, just like him. He begins sending letters to Ned Stark, politely inquiring about it. But as the dragon grows, so do the stories of it. Rather than stop these rumors, Jorah has them spread out, sending wandering crows and singers to talk about the dragon they had hatched as a way to drum up recruitments. At first, it is dismissed as madness, tavern gossip, the ramblings of drunkards. But then the stories come from men who have seen it with their own eyes. A black beast, small but growing, with silver eyes and wings that cut through the frozen air. A creature of fire born beyond the wall, bound to the cold. The chance to see a dragon is enough to bring desperate men from all across the seven kingdoms. And so they come. Not just broken men and criminals, but desperate men, ambitious men. Some seeking glory, others seeking power. Some believe the dragon is a sign of the old world returning, that the Night's Watch will rise again. Others whisper darker thoughts. If a man could tame a dragon, what else could he claim? Others want glory of serving alongside some dragon knight in the wall. Jorah Marmmont does not waste the opportunity. The Lord Commander sees what the dragon represents. Hope, power, and a tool to rebuild the watch. He uses it to swell their ranks, speaking of duty and honor, but also fire, of strength. There is no honor in what he does. And Jorah still has nightmares about the man they burned. None of it sits well with him, but given the sorry state of the Night's Watch, there is little he feels he can do. At least with this, they have a chance of protecting the wall. Men flock to the wall, and for the first time in years, Castle Black is alive with new recruits. Yet, little does he know that these efforts inadvertently weaken the wall. The ancient magics woven into the wall were bought with blood. The vow that the Night's Watch will hold true to guard the realms of men. Yet here they are spilling the blood of others and unholy rituals. Filling its ranks not with heroes and defenders of men, but with thieves, rapers, men of greed and avarice. Bit by bit, the charms begin to weaken. While the fresh recruits train, he gathers the strongest, the best rangers, killers, men who can fight and survive. He will not sit idle while Benjen Stark is lost to the dead. He decides to be proactive and ride out to find Benjen and learn the truth not just of the wildlings but also of the White Walkers. Among this expedition is Jon Snow and Frostfire. By now, the dragon is no longer a helpless hatchling perched on Jon's shoulder as he rides beyond the wall. The dragon is the size of a small wolf now. Its wings stronger, its fire hotter. Ghost pads alongside them, silent as the grave. The expedition takes them deep into the frozen wilds. The frost fangs, the rivers frozen solid, the cursed haunted forest where no man lingers for long. They make their base at the fist of the first men, where old ruins whisper of a time before the wall. Scouts are sent out to investigate the land beyond, searching for any wildling activity. As all signs point to them being in the north, away from the prying eyes of the Night's Watch. Yet, as they search, Jon remains behind to care for the dragon. There, the dead find them first. Shadows in the snow, pale figures with glowing blue eyes, white walkers. The cold tightens around them like a vice, unnatural, suffocating. Whites come rushing forward first, serving as the primary army that rushes the fortifications from all sides. They advance with no fear of being shot at or injured. Only fire truly stops them. Jon fights. Longclaw carving through the dead flesh. Ghost is a blur of white fury. Tearing into the whites with savage purpose. Around him, the black brothers fight in organized squads, focusing on small groups of whites and using fire, then hacking them to pieces. They had learned from their brief encounter with the whites in Castle Black. Hundreds fall behind them. But it is not enough. More whites continue to pour forth and are stiffened by the white walkers and icy beasts. Undead wolves, rotting bears, and even a giant. But none were as ferocious as the white walkers themselves. Swords break against them. Men scream as ice takes their flesh. Whites pour from the darkness, clawing, biting, overwhelming them. Jorah Mormont roars for them to hold, but he is struck down by one white walker. His blood black against the snow. Jon loses Longclaw in the chaos and reaches for one of the dragon glass arrow heads they have and drives it into the white walker's side. To his surprise, the creature hisses and shatters into icy shards. But he does not pause to take this in as he hears Frost Fry's cry. The dragon takes to the air, wings beating against the storm. And then blue white flames erupt from the frostfire's maw, engulfing the nearest whites in an inferno. They burn, shrieking, turning to ash. The Night's Watch rally. Those still standing break through the chaos as they stumble through the gap Frostfire makes, dragging their wounded, fleeing into the dark. The expedition is shattered, half their men dead, but they live. Jon is the last to retreat, carrying Jor Mormont. Behind him, Ghost snars and rips through the dead, tearing at anything that gets in their way. Frostfire flies with them. Longclaw, held tightly in his claws as they escape. They retreat, but Jorah Mormont slumps against his saddle. Breath ragged, his hand weak but steady, grips Jon's arm. Keep it safe. He rasps. The dragon, the watch, all of it. Then his grip loosens. Jor Mormont, the old bear, is gone. Jon clenches his fists. Snow and blood freezing against his skin. He looks at the men who remain. Most of the officers are gone, including the old bear. Those who remain are pressed, ganged, the old or the young. The Night's Watch has a dragon, and yet it has no Lord Commander. The White Walkers do not stop. They pursue Jon and the remnants of the expedition, even as they retreat. Silent as phantoms in the snow, the dead march with them, whites clawing at their heels, finishing off the wounded, taking out anyone who breaks off from the main column and watching them as they sleep. The men barely reach the wall before the enemy is upon them. Only a small fraction of the original expedition escape, and with them come the White Walkers. For the first time in generations, the White Walkers attack the wall itself. The cold thickens, biting deep into flesh and bone. Ice cracks unnaturally across the wall's surface. The dead pile at its base, clawing at the ice, their twisted hands reaching. And then the walkers step forward. For a moment, it seems as if they will break through, but the ancient magic still holds. The wall resists them, its unseen charms pulsing faintly, and then frost fire strikes. From above, the dragon swoops down, fire spilling from its m. The flames turn blue in the unnatural cold, but they burn all the same. Whites shriek as they crumble to ash. Even the walkers recoil from the beast, their icy weapons raised in warning. The attack falters. After a moment of stillness, the White Walkers retreat into the storm. The battle is worn, but just barely. The return to Castle Black is anything but triumphant. Jor Mormont is dead. Many of its veterans and officers followed him to the grave. The Night's Watch is leaderless. The only consolidation is seeing how many new recruits the Night's Watch has. The Wildlings instead remain where they are, happy to let the Watch and the White Walkers destroy each other. An election must be held, but the men do not rally behind Jon. The many recruits who remain in Castle Black don't know the surviving officers and rally around Janos slint, one of the few lords who had joined them. With silvered words and the promise of power, he wins the vote. Jon is barely considered. Men murmur that the dragon was what saved them, not him. The watch owns no property. Jon has no claim to Frostfire. The dragon belongs to all of them. Slint seizes control. He declares that Frost Fire is the future of the Nights Watch. No longer will they be beggars guarding the edge of the world. With a dragon, they could be kings once more. Jon watches in silence as his brothers cheer. Some men begin to whisper of the dragon's true purpose. They take Janos's word too seriously. They see Frostfire not just as a weapon, but almost as a god, a miracle sent by whatever god they follow to save them. At first, it is mere superstition until the first sacrifice is made. A wounded man dies in the night. Nothing unusual. But Jon overhars a hushed conversation in the morning. A cult is formed among the watch. They believe that through blood and fire, frost fire will become strong enough to wipe out the white walkers. They are sacrificing the injured slowly, carefully. No one has yet questioned it, but the wall is weakening. Jon wishes to take action, but Aman urges against it. He warns that trying to fight them will only lead to his death, and who shall be left to protect Frostfire. Jon must keep his head down for now until there is an opportunity to take action. Even Jon as slint, greedy, and power- hungry as he is, does not approve, but he does nothing. These men are loyal to him, and so long as they do not threaten his power, he will not challenge them. But little does he know, someone else is watching them. Roose Bolton, the Lord of the Dread Fort, has long believed in the power of blood, in the slow, meticulous art of sacrifice. He senses the efforts the Night's Watch make to strengthen their position, the clumsy sacrifices they make, the mad spells they cast without regard of the consequences, or worse, the ignorance of them. Even as the war of the five kings ends and he returns north as the new warden of the north, he senses something is off. This is a power that threatens to upset the very balance of the world. While the rest of his lords clamor for the death of the Ironborn, Roose knows that this is something far worse. A disease that if left untreated could lead to the death of everyone. He leaves the destruction of the Ironborn to his son as he rides north with a handpicked force to deal with the Night's Watch. The Bolton forces descend upon their watch like a storm. The cultists, unprepared for battle, are cut down without mercy. Unlike the White Walkers, the charms do not protect them. And there is no dragon to save them. Now it is only a match of steel and skill, and it is no contest. Their makeshift rituals, their twisted worship of the dragon. It all ends in fire and steel. Some of the watchmen try to resist, believing this to be an invasion. Roose has them flayed alive. Jano's slint is dragged before him. The man is trembling, blubbering excuses, blaming the others, claiming he never sanctioned their sacrifices. Incompetence is as great a crime as treason. With a simple nod, his men behead Janos Slint in the yard of Castle Black, but the cultists remain scattered throughout the remaining Nights Watch castles. Roose must get rid of them. Until then, he confronts Jon in the Godswood. Frostfire watches the slaughter from its perch, its silver eyes glowing in the dim light. It does not interfere. It does not understand the politics of men. Roose stares up at the dragon, admiring the creature. Meanwhile, Jon glares at the leech lord, barely resisting the urge to spit. You betrayed Robert. You cost the North the war. All for your ambition. The war was lost, Jon Snow. I will acknowledge my betrayal, but I cost your brother nothing. Your brother was a fine warrior, but a poor king. His honor cost him his life, and his naivity cost him his crown. I was simply the final dagger. You would do well to learn from his mistakes. I bet that must make you sleep better at night, more than the grave. What did you think would happen had I remained loyal? I We might have retaken the North, but for what? The Lannisters had the rest of the kingdom by their side. They would have invaded and crushed us. We had no leverage thanks to Lady Catelyn, and we had no allies thanks to King Rob. He was a dead man when he betted that Westerling girl. Roose studies him for a moment before speaking again. I did not come here for conquest. The powers your brothers unleashed. They could bring an end to everything. The north, the realm, the world itself. Call me what you will, but I will not bring about the end of the world. Jon hesitates. This is not the Roose Bolton he expected. There is no greed in his eyes like Lord Janos. No love for cruelty like the Lannisters. Still, he does not trust him. What shall we do? You must leave. What? Some of the cultists escaped. They will come for you and your dragon. You are a threat to them now. If you remain here, they will find you and the watch is in disarray. To defend the dragon will take resources or worse, bring the white walkers upon here again. And do you think you or the wall has this strength to resist them? Jon's fists clench. He does not want to run. Not from this. But Roose is making too much sense. If you stay, you will die. And your precious dragon will die with you. Even if I defeat the cultists, I will ensure the beast is slain to prevent future incidents. But if you leave, if you wait until the right moment, then you might yet live to guard the realms of men. Roose Bolton has many motives. He knows Jon is a threat to his rule. Knows that if Jon stays in the north, he may rally men against him. Sending him into exile ensures that Jon Snow will not challenge Winterfell. At least until he can consolidate power. But Jon also knows the truth. The war against the dead is only the beginning, and the time is not yet right. With one last glance at Frostfire, Jon Snow makes his choice. He turns to the wall and rides north. Roose Bolton watches as Jon Snow disappears into the frozen wasteland beyond the wall. One problem solved. He turns his gaze upward to the silvery dragon flying off. The North has a dragon and that changes everything. Remember, 2500 likes and we release the finale. That's our theory. Westeros is a land filled with exciting stories and possibilities, and we love exploring them. If you want to accompany us on this journey across the seven kingdoms and beyond, then please like, share, and subscribe to our channel.