When they reached Rhaegal, Jon boosted Arya and she clamored up the treacherous scales as though she'd done it a hundred times before. Jon doubted whether he'd ever look so practiced, despite the fact that he was the one Rhaegal was actually allowing to ride him.
Behind him, Tormund bellowed in an unintelligible war cry as he cut down the last pursuing White Walker.
The redheaded wildling looked back at Jon and gave him a wide grin.
"Not so bad."
Jon forced a smile, but his heart wasn't in it, not when the guilt of cowardice clawed at his insides.
You know nothing, Jon Snow.
He'd left Bran. Arya told him to, but he should have refused.
You know nothing, Jon Snow.
A deep woman's scream ripped through the night.
Tormund's eyes widened and he looked back in the direction of the Weirwood tree, too distant to make out any details.
"The big woman." He ran a hand through his wild hair, a look of purpose blazing in his eyes. "I have to go back."
"Tormund." Jon called after him as the wilding started to run back into the madness.
"Let him go." Arya said, reaching down to place a hand on Jon's shoulder.
He shrugged her off and looked up into his sister's dark eyes.
"Let him go? Leave Bran behind?" He shook his head. "What's happened to you? Bran is our brother."
"You don't understand."
"He told us that all that mattered was keeping the Three-eyed Raven out of the Night King's grasp." Jon snapped, reaching down and grasping the hilt of Longclaw. "I'm going back."
"If you go back, then all of this will be in vain." Arya said. "All that matters is protecting the Three-eyed Raven. Bran understands that better than anyone."
"Bran is the Three-eyed Raven."
Arya's expression darkened, "Not anymore."
"Not anymore?" Jon stared at her in confusion. "What do you mean."
"Bran's no longer the Three-eyed Raven." She repeated. "I am."
Understanding like dread slid over him in an icy shower. It all made sense. Bran's insisting to come to the Godswood to draw in the Night King. It had seemed so reckless after his revelation that the Night King's aim was to reach and destroy the Three-eyed Raven. And it was supposed to appear so. It was supposed to be too tempting to resist. Bran was marked. There was no where he could run that the Night King could no follow. So the Three-eyed Raven came up with a different plan. A decoy. War was a game of strategy, after all. And sometimes a piece must be sacrificed to win the game.
"There has to be another way." Jon said, shivering despite his numbness to the cold.
"There isn't." Arya said. "Bran understands that. And now so do you."
"He's our brother." The pain in his chest was worse than when his brothers in the Night's Watch had stabbed him over an over. He'd made similar sacrifices in the past, accepting the loss of a few to save many, but this… this was family. This was Bran. Ned Stark's last son.
"He knew exactly what he was doing and what it would mean." Arya said, extending her hand in an offer of help up. "We must go now."
Jon looked back, one last time, and then took Arya's hand, knowing this was a moment he would never be able to look back on without shame.
For doing the wrong thing for the right reasons did nothing to ease the guilt of the wrong thing done. He would do what he had to do. He would save the Three-eyed Raven, even if the price was Bran.
He felt ill as he slid into place on Rhaegal's neck behind Arya and the dragon launched into the sky.
Sansa would never forgive him.
He'd never forgive himself.
Sorry for another delayed chapter. 2020 keeps taking cheap shots. Every time I think things have settled out there's another bump. I'm still here, though, and hard at work!