25 The Dragon moves North

It was a festive mood in the great hall of Winterfell. The long tables had been taken out and replaced with one circular table. Their King - Viserys III Targaryen - was absent, drunk from the latest bout of pain in his arm. Better, thought Lord Ramsay Bolton, Hand of the King. 'The vicious oaf would just fuck everything up.' Not that Ramsay wasn't vicious, but he was smart. Raising a mug of ale in a cheer, once the hubbub died down he stood up. "Life goes on, my friends." His face was all smiles. "As life moves at a fast pace, we should all enjoy things." Ramsay leaned down to kiss the cheek of Myranda, his lover and partner in crime. "One thing this lovely lady has introduced me too…" He picked up a staff. "Stickfighting."

Laughs came from the others, which Ramsay joined in. "No, it's quite intriguing. They do it in Essos." He began to walk around the table slowly, passing the allied lords. "Good for tiny men such as myself." More laughs. His grin never faltered. "With the war we are facing, we'll need every advantage. Our enemies… we have more, not just 'King' Joffrey or the other lioncunts he keeps around, but also to the North." News that Jon Snow, Robb Stark, Margaery Tyrell, and Sansa Stark - his own wife - were massing an army of Wildlings and Northerners to take back Winterfell had spread far and wide.

"And then, in war but also in peace, we need to prioritize loyalty." The assembled Lords and commanders cheered, quintessentially northern in their garrulousness. "Loyalty of a Lord to his King. Of a Hand to his King, and of a King to his men. The latter is the most important, but can only be achieved if the first two are followed to the letter." He grinned, gesturing with his arms. "Wouldn't you agree, my friends? Because when loyalty is not given by subordinates, we get abominations - such as Cersei Lannister running nations."

Agreeable laughter echoed from the lords, the Lannister Bitch one all could hate. One of the amused diners was an older lord, pledged to Ramsay and Viserys but as of yet undecided on who to support in the coming power struggle. As the Hand to the King stopped behind him, the Lord had no idea that Ramsay knew of this.

Grin morphing into a snarl in but a split-second, Ramsay raised the staff. With a snarl he smashed it against the head of the Lord. Face transformed into the sadistic demon he truly was, Ramsay hit him over and over.

"Fuck."

"Seven Hells."

The murmurs and cursing of his allies not even registered, Ramsay only stopped when the audible crack of the obviously dead lord's skull caved the brain in. Tossing the brain and blood covered staff onto the table, he took a few breaths before the smile returned. "Loyalty. It is the most important thing." He calmly went back to his seat as human blood pooled on the table.

Already, Daenerys found her two senior advisors waiting for her in her solar. "Lady Stark. Hand Lannister." With Catelyn's loving treatment of the twins and her sharp mind, Dany was growing to value her counsel - same with Tyrion, who she had made her Hand not two weeks prior.

Hearing their greetings, the queen's mind was still replaying the conversation she had had not ten minutes before.

"You are not going to Westeros, Daario. I need you here in Meereen. The city is on a knife's edge, and I need someone I trust to protect it and its people."

"Fuck Meereen, and fuck the people. They are not who I swore myself to."

It hadn't been something she looked forward to, crushing Daario's hopes like that. He was a strong ally of hers and challenging company, but it had to be done. Both for her as a Queen and for her as a woman. 'He just has to get over our night together.' So far Daario refused to, though he hadn't really said anything since he was wounded.

"The army is readying itself at a fast pace." Tyrion balanced a chalice in his hand, filled with wine. "The Dothraki already have their horses prepared to disembark, and fifteen thousand freedmen auxiliaries are fully trained and eager to fight." He did not mention how General Theodosius nearly punched him when he visited to get the information.

Staring out the window at her armada, hundreds of ships ready to take the largest army ever assembled to Westeros, Daenerys' gaze rested on one of them. One with a Kraken emblazoned on the foresail. "And what do you advise regarding the Iron Islanders? Their offer is very generous, and the woman would be far better to be on the throne for me than the uncle they speak of." She turned, finding Catelyn shifting uncomfortably. "On the other hand the man, Theon was it… did raid your home and kill nearly everyone in your keep. He nearly killed your two sons." Fire burned in her violet orbs. "An attack on the family of my children is an attack on me."

Seeing Catelyn's indecision, Tyrion chimed in as the voice of reason. "As satisfying as it would be to engage in vengeance, ladies, you must remember that your children are alive."

"Only one is confirmed to be alive, Tyrion." Dany hadn't felt safe sending Bran to Qarth, but the boy was oddly persistent - he was well protected, in any case.

"The deal Yara Greyjoy presented us in the past week is generous, as you have said, your Grace. Petty vengeance in the place of sound strategy does not ever work, as you know personally, Lady Stark." Of course she remembered, given that having Tyrion captured at knifepoint for allegedly setting an assassination attempt on Bran Stark nearly caused Ned's death sooner than it happened in reality. Tyrion hoped she had learned that lesson.

Pursing her lips, Catelyn sighed. "Bran is alive, and I know that he did not murder Rickon. From what he told me of Ramsay Bolton's… proclivities. He's suffered enough. Theon's redemption was saving Sansa."

"He could be lying."

Catelyn shook her head. "I could tell he wasn't. Take the offer from the Greyjoy's. You need the ships. Iron Island caravels and carracks are the best there are at battle. While the troops are being unloaded at Dragonstone, they can screen the landings."

Nodding, Dany sat on one of the couches. "Very well. They will be spared and welcomed onto the war council, for now. I still don't trust them." She had a feeling Jon would punch Theon in the teeth before even saying one word. It made her smirk.

"Speaking of the war council, how did your meeting with the sellsword captain go?" Tyrion watched her with a raised eyebrow. "Did you let him down gently?"

Dany narrowed her eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

A laugh escaped the Imp's lips. "I've seen the way he looks at you. Half puppy dog and half hungry wolf." Filling the wine cup in his hand with more of the straw-colored liquid - the white vintage was better than Dornish red, though he'd drink horse piss wine if it was the only vintage available - he took a hearty sip. "As your Hand, it is best that I know these things."

Clasping her fingers together, Dany closed her eyes and exhaled. "Yes, I dallied with him once. It was a mistake then but I am fond with Daario Naharis as a commander. I told him that I wished him to stay in Meereen, to hold it in case the Masters shake themselves out of their torpor and attack. Then, he confessed his love for me." It was… sweet, but she had no feelings for him in the slightest. Her heart belonged to another.

"He won't be the first one to love you, your Grace, nor will he be the last." He drank another gulp. "You are a Queen, and are planning to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You will need to make alliances through marriage. That will win you the Realm, more than any show of military might."

Her jaw set in determination. "There is only one I will marry. Jon Snow, the father of my children."

"He would help bind the north to her," Catelyn noted, expecting Tyrion's counterpoints.

"I did consider him first, and he's a top candidate given what I remember of him, your Grace. However, love cannot take the place of strategy and duty. Much as it would pain me to hurt you in this way." Tyrion, being lucky in finding and keeping the woman that he loved but having endured a marriage based on politics, wished not to hurt his new Queen. He had grown to care for her. "But, marrying a bastard could jeopardize your standing."

Instead of blowing up, Dany only smirked. She nodded at Catelyn, who smiled softly. "Tyrion, it is time I inform you of the truth." He leaned forward, curious as to what she could mean. "Jon Snow isn't Ned Stark's bastard."

This, Tyrion did not expect. "Um… so who's child is he?"

"He is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, the trueborn son."

Blinking in disbelief, Tyrion shifted his gaze to Catelyn Stark. "Aye, it is true. I was shown the marriage documents by Ned himself. Rhaegar and Lyanna were lawfully husband and wife." The guilt still ate at her. "After Lyanna died, Ned took him as his own to protect the Targaryen child from Robert Baratheon's wrath."

Silence reigned for the moment, two sets of feminine eyes set upon the Lannister dwarf - gauging his reaction. The curly beard and mustache hid it for a moment, but soon the immense grin that began to form erupted into raucous laughter. Wine spilled over the floor as he shook with mirth. "Oh Eddard Stark," he wheezed between chuckles. "Just when I thought you couldn't be more honorable." Tyrion struggled to compose himself. "Pretending to have a bastard and dishonoring yourself in order to protect your beloved sister's child from a fat tyrant bent on killing all Targaryens? If it weren't Ned Stark I wouldn't believe it."

"So you believe it?" Catelyn asked, a bit surprised by his… unexpected reaction.

"Yes." Gulping down the last of his wine, Tyrion had managed to regain composure. "Believe me, if you were trying to lie then this wouldn't have been it." He sat back down, a hand on his stomach. "Well, this… clearly changes things. The incest issue isn't a problem for your House, so that problem isn't a problem at all. Being the heir to the Seven Kingdoms and having Stark blood makes him… he has the most noble blood in all the Realm. Targaryen and Stark. I suppose you can get both political benefits and marry for love, your Grace."

The beaming smile of a woman in love returned to Dany, just as it had when she found out the truth about Jon. "Yes, honored Hand, I am lucky." She rose. "Excuse me, I will be visiting my children."

As soon as she had left the room, Tyrion started laughing again. "Jon Snow… oh Robert, you fat cunt. If only you knew."

Catelyn scowled. "Joffrey will be just as determined to be rid of him."

"That is true, only I doubt Jon Snow would let him without a fight."

"You don't have to be here," Robb whispered to his sister as the opposing party galloped ever forward. Behind the hills, the tops of Winterfell's towers were just visible. Nestled in the van of the collection of lords and commanders - Davos, Tormund, Brienne, the Blackfish, Lyanna Mormont, and others, all collected through the cajolling and wheedling that they could bring to bear (Sansa and Davos had proven quite adept at diplomatic dealing). Securing the Blackfish had been a coup, but the neutrality of the Glovers, Manderys, and Curwins really set them back. The two Starks watched as the fluttering flayed man and three-headed dragon banners approached.

"No." Sansa's voice was as hard as steel. "I have to."

After what seemed like hours, the Targaryen/Bolton party reached the Starks. Tension permeated the air. "My beloved wife," Ramsay finally said, eyes settling on Sansa. "I've missed you terribly." He turned to look at Robb. "Thank you for returning Lady Bolton to me safely." Almost manic in his enjoyment of this moment, Ramsay looked at each member of the opposing party. He shared a laugh with his King, Viserys looking as haughty as ever. "So, where is your bastard commander?" He giggled, although anything out of his lips sounded sinister.

"He probably ran away, Hand," Viserys laughed, though it was anything but sinister. He rested his gloved hand against the gold cast of his left. "Fled like the cowardly bastard he is."

Allowing herself a smirk, Sansa looked back at the horizon. There was a small, low-flying speck. "Actually, he should be here quite soon…" A loud shriek - deep and booming - resonated across the plain. All the Bolton allies but Ramsay flinched while the Stark men grinned. Flapping hard, low off the ground, swooped in the green form of Rhaegal. Perched on his back was Jon Snow, dressed every inch a Stark warrior.

Planting himself on the ground, Rhaegal let out an ear-splitting roar. His rider held on with the skill of an expert. 'Rhaegal, sit.' One grunt left the beast's maw and he relaxed on the ground, narrow eyes blazing at his rider's foes. Jon gazed at each of the men opposing him. Some, like Viserys - much to Jon's chagrin and amusement - were visibly cowering. Others, like Smalljon Umber, flinched but recovered their icy contempt for their enemies.

Ramsay, on the other hand, wasn't perturbed at all. On the contrary - much to Sansa's annoyance, though she kept it hidden behind narrowed eyes - his mania seemed increased. "Oh wonderful, the rumors were true." He giggled again. "I always wanted to see a dragon… not that it will matter to you." A grin spread across his face. "Had the beast been able to breathe fire, you would have taken Winterfell already. I'm sure you would have convinced him of that, dear wife."

Sansa merely shot daggers at him, impassive and waiting for Jon to start. Stroking Rhaegal's neck - more to calm his own anger than the green dragon's - Jon let the silence stretch out the tension. "State your terms, Lord Bolton. Or should I address the Mad Prince instead?" Jon suppressed a smirk as Viserys nearly turned purple at the old insult.

Biting back profanities, the interloper King tried to recover his regal composure. In reality, it just looked ridiculous. "It doesn't matter bastard. My Hand will inform you of my terms, which are lenient considering what you deserve. Hand, you may proceed."

"Alright." Ramsay was giddy. "Dismount and kneel before the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, and the King will grant his clemency to all of you traitors. For he is a man of mercy." The grin never vanished. "Oh, and the King will be wanting that dragon, and I my wife. They belong to their rightful masters, not a bastard son of a fallen Lord and a southern whore."

'If only you knew,' Jon thought.

Ramsay continued, smirking darkly. "Also, His Grace will release your younger brother as an act of mercy."

"How do we know you have him?" Robb asked. At that point, Smalljon Umber tossed the rotting head of a direwolf. That put an end to that.

"There is no need for a battle." Jon played the haughty, nonplussed monarch better than Viserys ever could. 'Why not, I have Targaryen and Stark blood.' Two royal lines. "You and me, fight to the death. Like the old ways."

"You can throw the Mad Prince in as well." Robb chuckled dryly. "From what I hear, it would still be one-on-one." The Stark forces couldn't help but laugh at Viserys' expense, the Bolton commanders suppressing their smirks and snickers.

Ramsay ignored it, agreeing silently. "He's good." He looked at both Robb and Sansa. "Your bastard brother is good, and from what I hear, a great swordsman. I don't know if I can beat him, but I do know that the armies of the rightful King will slaughter you. Not a hard choice to make."

Eyes narrowing once more, Sansa looked him straight in the eye. "You're going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton. You and your false King." Urging her horse, she galloped away.

With Sansa gone, Ramsay couldn't hold his manic glee. "You are fine men." Giggles left him. "My hounds will love to feast on you. I haven't fed them in seven days. They are hungry. Wouldn't it be quite the sight, my King?"

Grinning, Viserys spoke himself - the fact that he let Ramsay steal the dominance of the conversation obvious to all but him. "Do thank you for taking care of that dragon, bastard. I shall need it for my reign." As if sensing the words from the interloper, Rhaegal growled menacingly. "Don't worry about your sister though, my Hand will only use her as long as she is useful." Laughing, he glanced at Ramsay. Jon could sense the contempt from the Bolton Lord, and could sense that Viserys was too stupid to pick up on it - not that it surprised him. "As I told her long ago, I would let the whole world fuck her if it gave me my throne."

It took all of Jon's strength and self-confidence not to murder Viserys where he stood. Dany. Viserys had sold Dany to the same monster that his sister had been enslaved to. At that moment Jon knew what was going to come. There would be no deals, no treaties. This was no ordinary war, with a conquered and conqueror. Only a victor and a corpse.

Flickering torches banished the darkness from Winterfell's courtyard, the black sky waiting above the light as a shroud threatening a malevolent descent. Ramsay Bolton, gazing at the dazzling array of flayed man banners of his House - he ignored the Targaryen three-headed dragons, finding them as irrelevant as his supposed ruler - gingerly avoided the ice slicks that dotted the ground. Marching men melted the snow, and since there were a lot of them there were a lot of re-frozen ice patches that caused quite a few injuries.

Shaking his hand at the struggling servants dragging a huge contraption on wheels, he made his way over to his King. "You summoned me, your Grace?" Innocence dripped from his tongue.

Clutching the golden sheath covering his claw of a hand, the blackened skin inside itching and hurting, the mix of pain and alcohol in his system was causing the Targaryen interloper to rage. "He has a dragon! That half-breed northern bastard cur has a dragon!" Viserys' eyes blazed madness. It was clear which side the coin had fallen on. "My horselord slut sister is behind this, I know it! They fucked each other and now she sent him a dragon! A dragon meant for me!"

That said dragon looked as if it wanted to eat Viserys alive amused Ramsay to no end, but he declined to state it. "Do not worry, your Grace. The dragon was wounded north of the Wall, and so is no threat. Our allies from the Riverlands have ensured this." He motioned to Black Walder Rivers, the bastard son of Walder Frey and in co-command of Viserys' army.

Pulling the tarp off, the King blinked at what looked like a giant crossbow. "What the hells is this?"

"It is a scorpion, your Grace. Tywin Lannister was having them designed in King's Landing for when your sister deploys her dragons in a potential war. I managed to purchase three smaller ones before you were formally announced as King." Black Walder hefted a thin spear-bolt. "It fires this at high speeds, ensuring both accuracy and penetrating ability."

"I want the dragon alive, Hand!" Viserys snarled.

'Thinking I'd kill the dragon, as if I'm as stupid as you?' Ramsay only smiled at his 'King.' "Of course, your Grace. The bolt is only to weaken the beast." He reached into a box, two bannermen having pried it open when they walked in. Out came a grappling hook, long and with a stout rope tied at the end. "We'll wheel these bastards close once the beast cannot move

Running his hand along the wood, Viserys grinned like a hyena. "This pleases me." A look of puzzlement crossed his face. "But how will we get the dragon close enough to take it down? Jon Snow won't charge at us, will he?"

Even the fool could have moments of sanity, Ramsay figured. He gestured to the kennel, lips contorting into that same sadistic smirk. "Leave that to me, my King."

It was dank in the command tent. Darkness having fallen long before in the early dusk of winter, the light and warmth given off by the fires only filled the space within the canvas walls with smoke and musk. Most were used to it, however, the Northmen and Free Folk especially. It didn't stop any from the planning at hand.

"Our scouts have picked up activity on the Kingsroad," Davos breathed. "The Freys have arrived, led by Black Walder."

"Damn," said the Blackfish. "Of all those backstabbing weasels, he's the most capable on the field - though that isn't saying much." Jon cast an eye on his siblings' uncle. The men he brought with him nearly turned the tide, but the Freys threw that advantaged down the latrine. "So what do we now have?"

Grabbing a large staff tipped with a wooden block, Robb began moving pieces into position. The last time he had gone over something like this had been prior to the Red Wedding - and that hadn't gone well at all. He prayed daily that it wouldn't happen to Jon. "We have thirty-five hundred Wildlings," he nodded at Tormund, who had delivered bigly. "One hundred-fifty Tyrell pikemen, four hundred assorted horsemen from the northern houses, and nine hundred Tully infantry." He watched as Davos moved the enemy into position. "Meanwhile, the Boltons, Umbers, and Karstarks have over five thousand men on their own, and the Freys - conservatively - probably boosted that number by four thousand."

"So we're outnumbered by three thousand. Especially on cavalry." Leaning on the table, arms spreading out, Jon felt the long odds hitting him. "We need to have them come to us."

"Speak for yourself, King Crow." Tormund crossed his arms. "Mounted knights will cut us down like a knife through meat."

"That's why I'm having our men dig trenches on either side, which'll protect our sides. If we can get them to attack, they can tire themselves on our defenses long enough for the Tully infantry to swing around and hit them on the flank. Envelopment."

Lyanna Mormont huffed. "We could have doubly enveloped if the Glovers hadn't wimped out."

"Aye, but the plan is the best we have. If we hold, victory is ours." As the commanders and Lords left the tent, Jon reflected on how little he believed himself.

Soon, it was just him, Robb, and Sansa. Arguably the only Starks left alive. It was… surreal. Standing for the first time since the meeting began, Sansa looked at Jon with a weary look. "Brother, I fear you have made a terrible error."

"Sansa, Jon needs his sleep for the coming fight…"

"Robb, we should hear her out." Jon was not going to be the person that allowed no question to his leadership from those he could trust. "The plans could be better, but we did what we could…"

"You met Ramsay for but one conversation. I've lived with him, known him in ways you could never fathom or stomach. You are playing right into his hands."

Eyes darting from Sansa, to Robb, to the table, and back to Sansa, Jon sighed. "I know Viserys, Sansa. I've spent the same time with him, as Robb did with the Freys. He is a fool and will blunder into our trap."

A frustrated chuckle left Sansa's lips. "If you think that pompous fool is in charge… Ramsay is the one here. He manipulates people, enjoys manipulating people. Ramsay never falls for tricks, he is the master trickster."

"His numerical superiority makes him overconfident," Robb interjected.

"You don't know him."

"Then how do we get Rickon back, Sansa?" Robb's face was plastered with emotion.

Sorrow and pain crossing over Sansa's face, she forced it behind her mask. "You'll never get him back. Give up thinking that you will, he's Ned Stark's trueborn son. He's a greater threat to Ramsay than a bastard, a fallen King, or a girl." She looked straight into Jon's eyes. "Jon, do not fall for his tricks."

Stepping forward, Jon put his hand on her shoulder. "Sister, I know what you are trying to say, but I haven't played with sticks in the time we were apart. I've fought worse than Ramsay Bolton. I've defeated worse than Ramsay Bolton." He gestured to the table. "We've pleaded with every house and we're lucky to have this many men, to have a dragon that can at least fight on the ground. Every day he grows stronger, so we can't delay. There is no better time to strike."

"It's not enough!"

"It's all we have!"

Silence fell over the three of them… two of them, Jon noticing that Robb had stepped out - for what reason he couldn't fathom. Sansa stared at him, eyes cold with resigned sorrow. "Jon, if Ramsay wins…" she bit her lip. "I don't intend to be taken alive." The rightful King watched as she left the tent.

'There's only one avenue left to me,' she resigned herself to make her deal with the devil, a tear falling to the snow below at the situation her family found itself in.

Gazing blankly at the various unit designations on the map, Jon lashed out. His fist slammed on the intricate colors and squiggles. Everything was falling apart, defeat was likely. "I can't even protect my own family." He wondered if this was what his father thought. What both thought, Rhaegar on the floodplains of the River Trident or Ned in the Tower of Joy - hells, even Robb at the Red Wedding. "Gods damn it!" Jon needed air. He needed to feel the cold.

The freezing winds hit him like a relieving cup of water on a hot day. No matter how much dragonblood coursed through his veins, there was no doubt that Jon was a northerner through and through. 'Ice as well as fire.' Cold focused his mind. Cold was his element, and only Tormund could challenge him for fighting experience in icy weather. Jon looked at the maze of tents. These were strong men, hardened men. They could win.

"You have to promise me something... " Jon's ears picked up muffled voices. Peeking round the tent, he made out two figures. One was his brother. "If something happens to me, to Jon, I need you to get Sansa and the dragons. Take them to Eastwatch and sail for Slaver's Bay, Margaery." Margaery, so that's where Robb went.

"Why there?"

"Because that's where my mother is. Ask for her, and for Queen Daenerys." Jon's heart hitched at the mentioning of Slaver's Bay. "They will keep you safe. I... " Emotion clouded Robb's voice. "I've lost so much already. I can't lose Sansa to that madman… I can't lose you…" Seeing the two of them embrace, lips touching comfortingly, Jon allowed his brother privacy. There was no way he'd intrude in such an intimate moment. He had noticed the stolen glances between the two, and silently wished his brother well - Robb deserved a second chance at love.

'Dany.' If there was anyone that could help him in this fight, it was her. Staggering to the edge of the encampment, Jon took in the inhospitable northern wilderness - his home - in despair. "Why didn't I contact her?" Sam had alluded to it. Sansa had basically said it back at Castle Black. Perhaps it was disbelief, perhaps he figured she wouldn't love him anymore… perhaps even after everything he now knew Jon still felt himself unworthy. And now, it was too late.

"Lord Snow." Or was it? Striding next to him, Melisandre looked out to the same expanse of wilderness as he did. "Calming yourself before your victory?"

"I admire your optimism." A bird passed overhead, a crow. "Did you see that in the future?"

"I follow the signs the Lord of Light gives me. And everything he shows points to a great victory by the Prince that was Promised."

Despite his doubt in what the Red Woman preached, both his true mother and father believed just the same. They were convinced he was Azor Ahai reborn and told him as much. Even still, a question popped to mind. "You said dragons are very mystical creatures. Is it the same with dragonriders?"

She glanced at him. "I'm confused at what you request, my King."

"Can a dragonrider communicate with another? The same way they communicate with their dragon?" Jon hung on the hope. The last hope for victory, no matter what Melisandre's god said.

Blinking, the Red Witch pondered it. "I have heard stories told of Old Valyria. The bond between dragon and rider is forged by a special connection, which is only why a dragon can connect with their birther and their rider. If riders have a connection between each other, then their connection would have to be strong."

Hanging his head, Jon stared south at where his childhood home rested - unable to see it through the hills and woods but almost making out the tallest spire of the castle's tower. "Melisandre."

"Yes, my Lord?"

"If I am to die on the field of battle…" Sighing deeply, closing his eyes for but a moment, Jon felt the weight of it all falling upon him. All he wanted was peace. For it to be over. His being resurrected before was a sign, but did he want to perpetually cheat death? 'I'll leave it to the gods to decide.' "Do not attempt to bring me back."

Eyes widening for a split second, the Red Witch eventually nodded. "I can make that promise, Lord Jon Snow, because it will not happen. You will be victorious."

"You seem to be the only confident one," Jon chuckled. Either that or break down.

"The Prince Promised has destiny to fulfill. It will not end on a simple battlefield outside Winterfell castle." With that, she strode away, leaving Jon alone with himself. A place Jon was quite familiar with.

The Red Witch's words swirled in his mind. 'Could he communicate with her?' it was obvious that he and Rhaegal had a connection - dragon to dragonrider - and that connection was shared with his children. But would such an action with Dany be a stretch?

Sansa was right though. Their army was vastly outnumbered now that the Frey forces joined up with Ramsay. The armies of Viserys Targaryen were superior to theirs in every way, only a fool would deny it. Much as he wished it were different, much as he would like to hug Sansa and tell her that they would win, Jon couldn't. He'd be dead on the field once the battle concluded if a miracle didn't occur.

There was nothing to lose for trying.

Kneeling in the snow, eyes closed yet head angled towards the partially obscured stars, Jon focused his mind. "Dany, my love." The words of affection, so long banished from the isolation and fundamental loneliness of his vows and his position in the North, tumbled out. They felt strange to the tongue, yet supremely right at the same time. "If you can hear me, please. We are in peril, and need your help. I need your help."

Nothing but the harsh wind replied to his plea.

Hands on the railing, silver hair whipping in the steady breeze, Dany watched her two children with a smile. From their time on the open ocean, Balerion and Edderon had grown to be excellent fishermen. Their long necks and the gusty winds allowed them to glide over the water and ambush the large fish from above. She loved to see them so happy and carefree - though the longing for the still missing Rhaegal still gnawed at her.

"Your Grace." Dany turned her head to see Missandei step up to her. "I can report that the twins are safely ashore at Dragonstone. The raven from Lord Varys arrived barely ten minutes ago."

A sigh left her lips. "Thank the gods." Daenerys missed her babies desperately - they hadn't left her side since they were born, though she was sure they'd be protected. But when she found Jon again, it would be best if he knew what he was expecting before they met for the first time. She hoped that he wouldn't be angry.

Placing a tanned hand over her lilly-white one, Missandei smiled. "Don't worry, if he's as amazing as you make him out to be, then he'll love them." Dany looked at her gratefully, silently thanking her for the comfort.

Suddenly, an unseen flash hit Dany. Her eyes opened wide. "Jon." It was as if she heard his words standing right next to him. Every word.