Author's Note: Daenerys decides to ride Rhaegal in this chapter since Drogon is too severely injured to fly. I realize that in the books it is very clear that a dragon can only have one rider and a rider can only bond with one dragon, but I don't believe that is ever explicitly stated on the show, and this story is based on the show. If Daenerys had a better option here, I would have taken it, but Rhaegal is all she has left.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The decision had been made to leave Drogon behind while the armies headed north to meet their fate. It had been Daenerys' decision, and Jon knew it had not been an easy one for her to make. Drogon had not been left unattended, of course. Several maesters and an army of guards had been left behind to protect him, but he had not been permitted to head north with Daenerys and Jon. If Drogon died on the battlefield, the Night King could easily conscript him into the invading army, and that was a risk they simply couldn't take.
The rest of the party had set off at first light, moving steadily toward the battle that might end all their lives. Now, hours later, the sky was a somber grey, heavy with clouds. It looked like it might snow at any moment, and Jon prayed that it held off a little while longer. A great number of their soldiers were unaccustomed to northern winters, and he knew they would be at a distinct disadvantage if the snow began to fall.
Daenerys rode beside him, Rhaegal nowhere in sight. The dragon had been allowed to fly off on his own, ahead of their armies. Jon hadn't thought it a good idea, but Daenerys had insisted. She had said that it would do him good, that he needed to work off some of his frustrations after having seen both his brothers fall the night before.
Jon and Daenerys' advisors rode on either side of them, Ser Davos to Jon's left, Ser Jorah to Daenerys' right. Farther down the line, Cersei and Jaime Lannister rode side by side, their crimson banners waving luridly behind them. Jon still didn't trust either one of them, but he knew their help was needed if the living were to have any hope of claiming victory. So Jon did his best to ignore the uneasiness in his gut that had been there ever since they'd agreed to accept Cersei's help for a second time.
Jon and Daenerys' armies marched for hours, the air growing colder the farther north they traveled. When the sun finally reached its peak in the cloudy sky, Rhaegal suddenly came screeching through the air above them. All eyes looked up in alarm as the dragon soared overhead in great, swooping circles, crying out as if in deadly warning.
"He's seen them," Daenerys said, her gaze still fixed on the sky. "He's seen the White Walkers. They're here."
Jon's heart leapt in his chest. He had no way of knowing how close the White Walkers were. They had sent out scouts on horseback, but Rhaegal could see better and farther than any of them. Battle was imminent. Jon could feel it in his bones. He couldn't help but remember the horrors of Hardhome and how many men had fallen to the White Walkers in that very first battle. And then, then there had been the battle beyond the Wall, the battle that had lost them Viserion. Jon's blood ran cold in his veins as memory after memory assaulted him. Many, many men would die today, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
"Jon."
He heard Daenerys call his name, and it pulled him away from his memories. He blinked the cold out of his eyes and turned his head to look at her.
"Have you heard a word I've said?" she asked.
Jon shook his head. "No, I can't say that I have."
He thought she might be angry with him for ignoring her, but she didn't give him any indication that she was. They were about to head into battle, and Daenerys Targaryen didn't have time to concern herself with petty slights, for which Jon was grateful.
"I've always ridden Drogon into battle," she said. "I have never had cause to ride Rhaegal before, but today, that must change."
"You don't mean—"
"I'm going to call him down. I'm going to ride him ahead of our armies and lay waste to as many of the White Walkers as I can before they can reach our men."
"You can't."
"Of course, I can. He is my child. Even though he has never been ridden before, today he must take on a rider. He has no choice. None of us do."
"No, that's not what I mean," Jon said, keeping his voice low so that no one would hear them. "You don't have Drogon behind you anymore. If you fly off on your own, what's to stop the White Walkers from shooting you down? You'll have no one to defend you, no one to counter their attacks. You'll be asking to be taken out, and we can't win this war without you. You know that."
"No matter how many men we have behind us, we are always going to be outnumbered. The only way to thin their ranks is for me to go on ahead and do it myself."
Jon didn't want to say it, but it had to be said. "You saw what the Night King did to Viserion. All it took was a single spear throw. That's all. Do you really think you can swoop in and decimate his army without him noticing, without becoming a target?"
"I'll concentrate on the front lines. As soon as the Night King is within view, I'll turn back. You have my word."
Jon stared at her for a long moment, deep into her vibrant eyes. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that she could attack the Night King's army and live to tell the tale. But even the great Daenerys Targaryen was mortal, and Jon feared she would not return from her mission.
"I don't doubt your word," he said. "What I doubt is our ability to get out of this alive. We stand a better chance if we stand together."
"I have to do this on my own."
"You can't do this on your own. If you must do this, then let me go with you. I'm better with a sword than a bow and arrow, but I could be of some use."
"No. Absolutely not. Someone needs to stay here to lead our armies."
"Ser Jorah is more than capable of leading."
"No," Daenerys replied, the coldness in her tone brooking no debate. "If both you and I go on ahead, the only sovereign still on the field will be Cersei Lannister, and we cannot give her that advantage. Knowing her, the instant we disappear from view, she will charge forth and try to convince our men that we've abandoned them and that they should follow her. We cannot leave our armies in her hands."
Jon knew Daenerys was right. Although Jorah Mormont was a seasoned fighter, he was no king. Their armies would start to fall apart if there wasn't a clear commander to lead them. Jon would have to stay, he just wished he could convince Daenerys to stay with him.
"There's no need for you to go," he said, at a loss for something more compelling to say.
"There's every need. Don't worry, Jon Snow. I will return to you. I promise."
And then, without giving him a chance to say another word, Daenerys urged her horse into a gallop and quickly outstripped the army behind her.
"What is she doing?" Ser Davos asked, moving closer to Jon.
"She's going to be our first line of defense."
"You can't be serious. She'll get herself killed."
"I know."
Jon fought the urge to push his horse harder and race after her. He knew he had to stay behind to keep their armies together, but every nerve in his body was screaming at him to join her. If she didn't return, he would never forgive himself.
Jon's heart beat in his throat as he watched Daenerys ride away alone. Once she had put enough distance between herself and the horde of soldiers marching in her direction, she reined in her mount and called to Rhaegal, who quickly descended to the ground. In an instant, she was off her horse and mounting the dragon. Rhaegal made no protest. It was as if he understood the severity of their situation and was willing to do all he could to help his beloved mother. Together, Daenerys and Rhaegal quickly soared upward, disappearing above the stormy clouds.
Jon's eyes lingered on the sky, on the spot in the distance where he had last caught sight of Daenerys. He knew he might never see her again, and his heart ached with fear and regret.
But no matter how Jon felt, there was an army behind him, thousands of men and women marching northward to do all they could to save Westeros from destruction. They needed him to stay strong, to lead them into battle without the slightest bit of apprehension. And so he pulled himself up in his saddle, squared his shoulders, and focused his attention on the snowy expanse of land ahead. He would lead their armies to victory, or he would die trying.
