Jon

The months that passed were spent searching for those who would still hold true to their oaths to House Stark. The Umbers and Karstarks had sworn themselves to the Boltons and both were great in military strength. Rest of the North had yet to declare sides. Many of them would not join the Bolton, but neither would they support the growing Stark army solely because they would not fight beside Wildlings. For being considered honorable people by Eddard Stark, the lords of the North were very prideful. The Houses that did join for the revolt against the Boltons had lost most of their men at the Red Wedding. The didn't have much, but they had loyalty.

There were also more of the Free Folk coming through the Wall. They had been spared being at Hardhome but had no other choice but to come south once they heard of the settlement's fate. Upon hearing about the fight against the Bolton and why, they sent the men they could to help.

Their encampment was located where Stannis had been before he marched on Winterfell. Ser Davos was wise to choose this place but much of it felt haunting. There were many remains of the Baratheon army that were left behind because of the Bolton raid.

But time was running out. Another storm could hit them like it did Stannis and ruin any chance to march on Winterfell. They had to act soon and strike as hard as they can.

Together with Ser Davos and Sansa, Jon strode through the encampment, going over the military strength they had so far. To Jon, things were not looking very well. Their numbers were adding up, but their strength wasn't building enough.

"What are our current forces?" Jon asked. Ghost was silently following behind him.

Davos went over the numbers he knew of. "Three thousand Wildlings, two hundred Hornwoods, one hundred forty-three Mazins."

Sansa went over her numbers "sixty-two Mormonts, three hundred survivors of the Red Wedding, and four giants." It was clear that both of them were not pleased.

"It's not what he hoped for, but it's a better chance we might've had if we're careful and smart. We may not have the biggest of armies, but we have some things the Boltons don't. " Davos noticed some of the Northmen starting a ruckus with some of the Wildings. "Oh for fuck's sake!" He left to go knock some sense into some heads, leaving Jon and Ghost with Sansa.

"So he's your most trusted advisor now? Because he secured sixty-two men from a ten-year-old?" Sansa asked.

Jon didn't know where this was coming from. He wasn't listening to her more than he was him. "Ser Davos is the one who convinced Melisandre to bring me back, he's the reason I'm standing here talking to you and he served Stannis for years."

"Stannis, who lost the blackwater, who killed his own brother, who lost his head. The army we have is strong but we still don't have enough, we need more men."

"There's no time."

"If we went down to Castle Cerwyn, I know that Lord Cerwyn would-"

"We sent ravens to dozens of other houses! The men here are the ones who didn't ignore us! We fight with the army we have! Every day Rickon has been imprisoned by Ramsay, I have had to worry if he's still in one piece or turned into another Theon. Every day, I'm reminded that the Bolton's control the North and my dragons are out there somewhere. If Ramsay found them…" He didn't want to imagine what that monster of a man would do to them. "I'd rather let the White Walkers kill them when they come. We fight with the men we have." Jon noticed the ruckus had turned into a brawl and Davos couldn't get control. He left Sansa to go assist him.

Jon approached the group of men, angry and irritated. "Enough!" The men stopped fighting when they saw Jon standing before them. "What in seven hells is the matter with you lot?" They remained silent as if awaiting a grand speech, but Jon wanted an explanation first. "Well?"

The Wildling who started the fight spoke up. "This southerner called me a murdering pig when I've never even been south of the Wall before in my whole life!"

The soldier who fought him shot back, "my brother was butchered by you shits in a raid two years ago, you're all nothing but savages and murders!"

"That's enough!" Jon shouted at them. "I've served for five years as a brother of the Night's Watch. I've killed scores of Wildlings and seen them kill just many of the men I've fought with. They have killed thousands of us and we returned by killing just as many of them over the past eight thousand years." He had not only the attention of the men who were brawling but the men all around him. "I brought twelve thousand of them from beyond the Wall, and I watched as over a hundred thousand died and stood back up as soldiers to monsters we all thought to be nothing but stories to frighten children. The Free Folk have lost friends and family the same as we have in our own stupid wars. Until those wars are over, we need every possible person fighting to survive. Can you imagine how amused Ramsay Bolton would be if we saw ourselves killing each other? Whatever the conflicts of your fathers are and their father's before them, bury them or else we won't ever find peace, just more desire to kill each other until no one's left." Jon walked away from them, leaving them staring at the ground in shame and embarrassment. He felt frustrated of what he had to deal with.

Night came too quickly as Jon stood over the map of the North in the Command Tent. He was joined by Davos later on. "You'll be pleased to know that a battalion of sellswords fighting for House Forrester has arrived and also men of Houses Reed and Dustin."

"House Forrester sent mercenaries?"

"Ironwrath is being rebuilt after the sacking by House Whitehill. They only have about a baker's dozen sworn to them. Sellswords were friends of Lord Rodrick's late brother, Asher. They're repaying favors they owe."

"How many came?"

"The three Houses combined sent five hundred and seventy-eight men."

Jon pulled some tokens on the map and joined them with the ones representing his army. "Well, now we can say we have more than half of the opposing side. What about the Northern mountain clans?"

"We've received word from them. With the losses they suffered in your brother's war, they will not support your claim to Winterfell, but they won't support Ramsay either."

"Then that's it." He looked up at Davos while tossing aside the remaining tokens off of the map. "Four thousand, three hundred eighty-three men and four giants against eight thousand."

"There is something else you should know." Davos stepped took a few steps closer to Jon and spoke softer. "One of the mountain clans sent word that a farmer's livestock was burned a few days ago. He said that when the fire started, he could see two large birds flying and screeching in the sky and claiming they were what ignited his animals. If they weren't dragons then I'm not sure what to make of it."

"You said they were large, did the message say how big they were?" If they were growing, then soon what Jon feared might become true. Farms could only be the beginning of what they burn."

"It didn't specify. But if they grow as fast as you've told me, I wouldn't be shocked if they were bigger than your wolf."

"That's impossible, they only hatched seven months ago."

"And yet they are able to set an entire farm ablaze."

Jon looked over at the mountains on the map that were north of Winterfell. He wanted to find his dragons, but he hadn't the time, nor the freedom to do so. Tomorrow would be the parley with Ramsay. "We better win the battle then mustn't we?"

Jon had retired for the evening when the darkness of night covered the lands. Despite the hour, he was restless and troubled. He had many things on his mind. The Army of the Dead, the North, Ramsay Bolton, and then his dragons. Ygris and Lyarras were out there somewhere and it irritated him greatly.

While sitting on the furs of his bed, Jon brought a candle and set it nearby to use its light for reading. He was never one for books as Sam was, but the books Maester Aemon had in his personal possession had much to teach about dragons. The only problem was Jon hardly understood any of it. It was like trying to teach himself a new language and that wasn't including memorizing the phrase in High Valyrian.

"Dragon...zaldrizes, zeldrisez?" The pronunciation of each word felt strange against his northern accent. He'd never heard any of it spoken before so did not know what it meant to so like. "Let's see… dragonglass, or as it is known as frozen fire (zirtys perzys in High Valyrian), is to be created from the fires of the Fourteen Flames of Valyria but stories suggest it was created as a gift by first dragons to breathe fire." That sounded more like legend than history. He didn't know how far back dragons existed, but Sam had said that the Children of the Forest used dragonglass weapons, and they dated back thousands of years, even before the Age of Heroes.

Jon scanned over the texts and notes until one word, in particular, caught his attention. "Dracarys, translates to dragonfire. The word used by dragonlords on their dragons to command their fire. Dracarys." That word had a certain resonates with him when he said it. He felt the pronunciation to be perfect for once.

Jon turned his head to Ghost who was resting at the foot of the bed. "What do you think, boy?"

Ghost didn't move at all. He just kept sleeping.

Jon felt tired just watching his direwolf and decided to follow his example. He set the book aside and decided to rest. He slept peacefully that night even with the events that were about to transpire. His mind fell into dreams of a kind he never had before. He was a top a mountain, looking out to the lands around him.

The same thoughts running across his head but the voice that said them wasn't his. 'Where is father? Where is father? Where is father?' He felt scared and alone, but he also felt warm. It was coming from inside of him and something next to him. He looked over and saw Lyarras sleeping. He walked over next to he and laid with her, tired and wanting to sleep. When curled up next to Lyarras, something whipped him in the face. It was long and white. A tail, Ygris's tail. But when he followed it to try and see her, he found the tail connected to himself. He was Ygris. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't. he wanted to find them, but he didn't know where they were in the mountains. As he could feel Ygris drift away to sleep, his connection with her faded. The only thing he managed to think of what to tell them. 'Over here!'

Jon woke up, sweat covered his body. One of his guards had peaked in as if he was about to wake him up. "My Lord, Lady Stark and Ser Davos are waiting for you."

"I'll be a moment," he nodded.

Jon left his tent a few minutes later, still dressing. He strapped on his vambraces and pulled his cloak over his shoulders. He walked over to Davos and Sansa who were already on their horses ready to go.

"It's time," Davos said. Jon tied his hair up before mounting his horse. They were joined by the other Lords and Ladies who committed their men to them.

They saw Ramsay approaching them on the field, followed by Harald Karstark, Smalljon Umber, and a few other men, soldiers wearing Bolton armor and carrying banners with the flayed man.

Ramsay's face had a large grin on it, and Jon knew it wasn't a false one. His gaze was fixed on Sansa "My beloved wife… I've missed you terribly." His pale eyes turned over to Jon. "Thank you for returning Lady Bolton safe. Now, dismount and kneel before me. Surrender your army, and proclaim me the true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I will pardon you for deserting the Night's Watch, I will pardon these treasonous lords for betraying my house." Nobody said anything. "Come, bastard. You don't have the men, you don't have the horses, and you don't have Winterfell." Ramsay almost broke out in laughter. "Why lead those poor souls into slaughter? There's no need for a battle. Get off your horse, and kneel. I am a man of mercy."

'And I'm the King of Westeros.' Jon thought mockingly. His response, however, was not so. "You're right, there's no need for a battle. Thousands of men don't need to die. Only one of us." Ramsay kept staring at him, his cold eyes felt worse than Melisandre's when she used to give that same look. "Let's end this the old way, you against me."

Ramsay chuckled at that. "I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. I've heard you fought against dead men and Wildlings aplenty. I've heard you led the battle at Castle Black. The way people talk about you, you're the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good, maybe not. I don't know if I'd beat you, but I do know that my army will beat yours. I have eight thousand have, what, half that? Just over?"

"Aye, you have the numbers. Will your men want to fight for you when they hear you wouldn't fight for them?" The men following Ramsay were traitors, but they were still men of the North.

Ramsay's face almost grew angry, but he quickly went back to wicked smile. "He's good," he said pointing furiously at Jon, "very good! Tell me, will you let your little brother die because you're too proud to surrender?"

Sansa finally said something. "How do we know you have him?"

Ramsay looked at Smalljon Umber and nodded. Smalljon reached into a satchel on his horse and tossed the head of Shaggydog.

'Dammit.' Jon was filled with rage when the direwolf head rolled towards them but didn't show it.

"Now," Ramsay began "if you want to save your little broth-."

"You're going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton," Sansa spat at him, "sleep well." She turned her horse and rode away back to their encampment.

"She's a fine woman your sister. I look forward to having her back in my bed. And you're all fine-looking men! My dogs are desperate to meet you! I haven't fed them for seven days, they're ravenous! I wonder which parts they'll try first. Your eyes? Your balls! We'll find out soon enough. In the morning then, bastard."

Lyanna Mormont spoke up from behind. "Call him bastard one more time and when the battle's over and your dogs are starving, I'll rip your cock off, feed it to them, and let them have their way with you and your nice bloody twat."

Ramsay's smiling cracked again, but he restored it without hesitation. "I like you girl. When this is over, I think I might take a second wife." Ramsay's men turned their horses and galloped for Winterfell. Jon's company turned and began to make their way back to their encampment.

Tormund rode up next to Jon. "That little girl's got more balls than both our armies."

Jon smiled when he noticed Lady Mormont overheard Tormund and she cracked a tiny grin.

Night had fallen and Jon was in his tent. After a last war counsel, an argument with Sansa, and a conversation with Melisandre, he didn't want to do anything else. He needed to rest. Ghost was laying down at the foot of his bed. The moment Jon fell onto his bed, Ghost's head raised up, but not at Jon. His direwolf immediately ran outside without a moment's notice. Jon wasn't sure what just happened, but he didn't care at the moment, he had too much on his mind. He didn't even bother to change out of his armor, he just let himself drift away.

He had another dream, it was just like the one he had the night before, only this time he wasn't Ygris, he was Ghost. He was leagues away from the encampment, approaching the foot of a mountain. It wasn't an easy climb, but he eventually made it to the top. The night was clear and through the eyes of a direwolf, Jon could see more stars than he ever could have possibly imagined. The moon shined with divine light, a light that called to something inside of him.

Ghost lifted his headed and howled as loud as he could. The sound echoed through the mountains around him and the sounds of other wolves far away were heard. Through the sound of the howls, a song of the night was heard with something else other than a howl.

Though the winds of winter blow

They will never scare the crow

For when the king comes striking down

Our steel will break his crown

And then the skies will fill with light

Our brothers have won the fight

And then the one who was lost shall win

And the greatest of ages shall begin

The wolves will howl and the dragons cry

Through fire and ice, we will never die

Jon woke up, first light was approaching. Ghost was asleep at the foot of his bed but there were traces of snow and dirt lingering in the fur of his legs. Was it just a dream, or was Jon discovering what it meant to be a warg?

Jon's focus turned to the noise from outside of other men waking and preparing themselves for was the day. He slept in his armor which saved him the time to dress. He retrieved Longclaw and strapped it to his waist and then put on his cloak. Ghost followed him out to where many were getting ready to march to Winterfell. Sansa was there waiting to see him off.

"Jon," she said, "be careful. We've lost too many of our family. I don't want to lose another brother."

"I know, I don't want to lose Rickon either."

"I meant you."

The was heartwarming to hear her say. Jon hugged her tightly and then knelt down to Ghost. "Watch over her, boy."

Jon mounted his horse and was joined by Ser Davos and Tormund. He nodded to Ser Davos and announced to all behind him. "To Winterfell!" A horn blasted and the march to Jon's home began.