NOTE: I am doing something which I've never done before, which is to delete and replace the previous version of this chapter. I'm not totally jettisoning the ideas in the previous version, but I clearly didn't accomplish what I wanted with it, so I'm reworking some things. So if you read the earlier version – I'm sorry; please wipe it from your mind. I didn't motivate the characters' actions properly and it felt out of place. This fic has also gotten to the point where I could probably use a beta reader – there's a reason I usually stick to shorter stories and stay within known canon. If you'd like to volunteer, please let me know. Ok, rambling over.
At first, Jon simply stumbled through the trees without paying attention to where he was going. By fate or just by habit, he found himself in the section of the woods that he and Robb used to hunt. They'd spent hours stalking the deer with bows and arrows, waiting in the pre-dawn light, setting snares for rabbits. The forest was old here and teemed with life. More than anything, Jon wished he could talk with Robb one more time. He'd wished most of his life to be true-born and not the bastard of Winterfell; what a cruel jest to deliver his prayers so. The towering resentment that had formed the cornerstone of his existence for so long now warred with a strange euphoria at knowing that he was no pretender to the throne, destined to sit with the stablemen for the rest of his life.
Eventually, he knew, he'd have to return to Winterfell and plan a war, but for now the world could muddle on without him. He hadn't asked for any of this but somehow he kept falling up the ladder; first Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, then King in the North, and now ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. His life was a farce. Maybe Sansa was right and he should just pretend that he'd never heard any of it. Would it be so wrong to continue with a lie that he'd apparently been living his entire life? Jon shifted uncomfortably. He hated lying. And it was one thing to endure the muttered and not so muttered insults due to bastardy when it was true. Ignoring them when he knew different would be much harder. Beyond that, would it be shirking his duty to continue to pretend to be merely Ned Stark's bastard? He didn't want to be King, not really, but it felt wrong to lie in order to avoid it. Too close to desertion and dereliction of duty.
The familiar cry of a dragon broke through his thoughts. Jon sprinted to a nearby clearing just in time to see Drogon streaking off southwards. Where ever he was headed could not be good news. Jon spun on his heels and started running back to Winterfell.
The keep was in an uproar. Looking around, Jon finally spotted Sansa's red hair and strode towards her.
Sansa ran to him. "Jon, Bran saw the Ironborn at the Neck – they're destroying the causeway at Moat Cailin."
Jon turned pale. With the causeway down, they'd have nearly no escape route should the Army of the Dead push them that far South. Smashing his fist into his other palm, he said, "I should have known better than to trust Euron Greyjoy to keep the peace. The Dothraki?"
"Still stuck in the Neck. If the causeway goes down …"
"They'll be trapped in the South. Their horses can't make it through the marsh, I know," Jon finished. "Where's Queen Daenerys?"
"She took off on Drogon. She has plans to burn the Greyjoy fleet to ashes," Sansa said.
"And good luck to her, but could she not have waited?" Jon demanded.
"No one knew where you were. Jon, we should talk about earlier …" Sansa began.
"No time for that now. Where are Lord Tyrion and Ser Davos?" Jon dodged Sansa's questions.
"In the council chamber. I was about to send men out to look for you," Sansa told him.
Jon hurried with Sansa to the council chamber where the assembled advisors awaited. They rose to their feet as he entered. "Bran, what can you tell us?" Jon asked.
Bran's eyes turned white. "The Queen flies South, but it will be some hours yet until she reaches the Ironborn."
"Cersei has betrayed her word," Jon asserted looking at Tyrion.
Tyrion looked more dejected than Jon had ever seen him. "Very likely. That was always a risk," Tyrion agreed grimly.
"What is she thinking?" Ser Davos exclaimed. "She knows the danger."
"She seeks to cut off the North as we once built the Wall to barricade the lands beyond. Cersei aims to save herself," Sansa explained.
"Lady Sansa is right. My sister has always been attuned to threats that endanger her personally. If she must amputate the North to save her own lands, she will not hesitate to do so," Tyrion agreed. "I do not know whether she always planned this, but the destruction of the Wall at Eastwatch surely prodded her to action. The army of the dead will not fare well in the Neck without the King's Road to travel on."
"Then we must hope Queen Daenerys succeeds in her quest," Jon said. "Bran, where is the Night King?"
"He marches on Last Hearth and will arrive by dawn," Bran said, still looking elsewhere.
"Did Lord Umber evacuate?" Jon asked.
"The castellan, Ser Tobin, delayed leaving until all the smallfolk had gathered at the castle," Bran continued. "Five thousand people wait to march across the Last River."
"Curse him!" Sansa exclaimed. "I sent ravens three days ago telling Lord Umber to leave."
"Ser Tobin misestimated the speed at which the dead could travel. And he disliked receiving his orders from the Lady of Winterfell and not the King in the North," Bran said.
"His poor judgment has doomed those people. May the Mother grant them mercy," Ser Davos intoned.
The council fell silent. Jon closed his eyes. Five thousand people and all likely to join the army of dead. Unless … a terrible hope struck him. "How fast can a dragon fly?"
"It would take but a few hours to reach Last Hearth from here, but our queen will never make it back from the Neck in time," Ser Jorah said.
Jon went to Bran's side and knelt beside him. "Bran, I need to know if this is possible," Jon said, trusting that Bran would catch his meaning.
Bran smiled serenely. "There are but two Dragons left in the world and they both shall fly."
Jon took a breath, barely daring to express what he was thinking. "Then I shall attempt it."
"Jon, you can't be serious," Sansa broke in, clearly guessing what Jon planned. "You'll die."
"There's no other way to get the Umbers and their people out in time. Ser Tobin may disregard a letter, but he won't defy his king in person. I must attempt it. I promise I'll stop if it looks likely to fail," Jon pleaded with her.
Tyrion narrowed his eyes. "Forgive me for intruding on a family argument, but do you intend to fly to Last Hearth on Rhaegal by yourself?"
"I do," Jon confirmed.
"I realize that the queen is fond of you and that might be clouding your judgment, but do not expect her dragons to share their mother's favor," Tyrion warned. "I urge you to reconsider before yet another Stark is confined to the earth."
Jon shook his head slightly at Sansa's unasked question in her eyes. There would be time for explanations later. "I do not know if Rhaegal will permit me to ride him, but I have to ask. I do not think he'll kill me for that."
Ser Jorah shook his head slowly. "This is folly. Drogon burned the last man who sought to take him from our queen when he was a mere fledgling. Queen Daenerys will not be pleased to find her dragon gone when she returns."
"She'll understand the necessity," Jon said, hoping that was true. "Bran, can you contact Rhaegal?"
Bran's eyes turned white again. "I have invited him to land at the hunting clearing north of the godswood. The rest is up to you. You must reach out to him as you have to Ghost in the past. Do you understand?"
"I do." Jon rose to his feet.
Jorah stepped in front of Jon. "I cannot permit you to do this in the queen's absence."
Jon stood his ground. "People will die. Children will die. And then they will join the Night King's army and increase his ranks."
"There are only two dragons now. If you do manage to take Rhaegal North, you may not return and neither will Rhaegal," Jorah insisted.
"I have no intention of engaging the Night King or his army. I merely seek to rouse the castle to action before it is too late." Jon paused. "If I do see the army approach, I will flee. No matter the cost. I cannot do nothing."
Jorah breathed out slowly and then stepped aside. "You are a fool, but I cannot fault your bravery. I hope we do not have cause to regret this decision."
"So do I," Jon replied simply.
