Chapter 8: Then I was Dead

Chapter 8: Then I Was Dead

Jon's POV

The coolness of the snow seeped deep into my legs as the heat danced against my fingertips, warming me. The gate shut behind us, and I could breathe with ease now that Tyrion was out of my hair. The soft purrs of Tyraxes filled me with warmth, her ruby eyes shimmering with delight.

She and her sisters were now the size of horses, her red scales only seemed to shimmer brighter, and her armored wings and underbelly grew even thicker. I thought that it might weigh her down, but she drifted easily through the sky on her powerful wings.

I scratched her for a moment longer, the sun against my back, and the Wildlings and brothers of the Night's Watch stood off in a cluster of trees with thick black trunks and green leaves. Tormund gave me wide blue eyes as he stared in awe at my girl.

Though I didn't watch him for long, I found myself on my back, staring up at a slimy red tongue as the scent of a dead cow and smoke filled my nose. I chuckled gently as Meleys licked my face, her teeth gently scraping against my skin, but it didn't hurt.

Her ocean-blue eyes were sad but still very much filled with love, her tail still as she loomed over me, the angry screeches of her sister falling on deaf ears as if they both wanted a turn but she refused to move from her spot.

The warmth of her body cloaked me in a blanket of warmth. My black cloak began to get soaked as the snow melted against it. Slowly, she floated gently above me before sitting beside Tyraxes.

Finally, the oldest and most intelligent, Tessarion, gave me a worried stare. Mercury-colored eyes tried to peer into my mind as I gently ran my hand over her burning-hot skin. Her scales were smooth against my hand, and the leathery skin of her wings felt good beneath me.

She was still larger than her sister, and her once small, blocky head was now long and elegant, just a little bit larger than a horse's skull. As I ran my fingers along her wings, a burning ache grew in my chest.

It felt like I was breaking into a million pieces, and I knew that if I stayed here a minute longer, I wouldn't want to leave. But Hardhome was waiting. The dead were on the march, and we had to get there first.

Though they were the size of horses, they were still only six months old, too young to meet the White Walkers. With a heavy, sullen breath, I pushed down the burning ache in my chest, and my body was riddled with anxiety. I spoke once in a commanding tone, the sound of High Valyrian spilling from my lips as the eyes on me only grew more numerous.

"Umbagon hen hen sight till se Tyrion tēmbi se umbagon va sombāzmion zōbrie skoriot issa ȳgha kesan sagon lenton aderī."

As I spoke the words, my chest burned with fear and worry that they might be hurt without me here to protect them, but I had to go. Slowly, I rose from the snow. Each of them let out muted whimpers before taking off into the sky like rockets, too fast to be seen by the human eye.

Those were my girls. I watched them and memorized them for a moment. Their wings flapped wildly, and just watching them fly hidden amongst the clouds soothed me. Thorne didn't like me, but he agreed that the crown couldn't know about the dragons; they were needed for the Long Night, and the crown would want them for weapons.

"Snow!" The annoyed face of Tormund filled my ears; he had lost his patience with me. "Snow!" Again he yelled my name, this time his tone burned with impatience. I turned to see him glaring at me as he jerked his head, while a sad smile began to pull at his lips. "We have to go, come on, Snow."

"Snow, come on, we have to go." I opened my eyes to the sound of Tormund's hoarse voice. His sterling blue eyes met my gray as a layer of exhaustion filled them. I watched him for a minute as the light began to fill up the skies.

I watched as the men and women of Hardhome began to pack up their tents. Their faces were cold and sullen as they grew more and more dejected. I sucked in a heavy breath before nodding my head slowly.

We took the ship back to Eastwatch and had to walk the rest of the way here. There weren't enough horses for all of us, so we had to walk. But would they open the gates when we got there? They would have to; without me, they couldn't hope to use the girls as they wanted.

Did Stannis come back when I was gone? Did he stab me in the back and take my girls and the brothers for his army? That thought alone forced me to my feet as I quickly packed up my stuff. The soft crunch of snow filled my ears as a blanket of white reflected the brilliant sunlight into my eyes. I could see Edd, the only other brother of the Night's Watch, packing up his stuff as he gave me a grim nod.

It didn't take long to get going, and given how far we are from the Wall, we could be there in a few hours. The sky lit up in a hue of colors—purples, oranges, and reds filled the sky as the sun began to slowly rise on the horizon.

The great colors only made me think of Tessarion's scales in the morning light as they cast a godly glow over Castle Black. That same ache began to fill my chest as Tormund bumped my shoulder playfully to get my mind together.

When I looked up to him, I could see a smile on his face, his bushy red beard had ice in it. "How did you get the dragons? None of the brothers would tell us." I smiled sadly at him as I nodded my head before looking off into the distance. I knew that once we got past the pines and oaks, there would be a thick, icy blue wall.

"I took your advice when you said to burn her out in the real north. I placed the dragon eggs on the pyre with her. I found them hidden in a cellar left there by one of the old dragon queens. I don't understand why; maybe she knew about the dead and wanted to keep them there just in case. I couldn't tell you why, but I found they called out to me in my sleep, the same way that Ghost does. Anyway, when the fire died down, there were three dragon hatchlings. That was almost nine months ago."

My bones ached, and the march to Hardhome took longer than expected. It's been a long three months, and I'm sure that they thought that I was dead, that we were all lost because of a fool's errand. They would be right; we only saved ten thousand, and that thought alone will haunt me. I sucked in an unsteady breath as I looked at Edd.

He had been walking just a few feet ahead of us. Two lone cloaks of black in a sea of white. "The red one reminds me of Ygritte." I chuckled gently at his casual yet loving tone. I could see the starstruck look in his eyes; he had to be thinking about her.

"Aye, her crimson color and fierce eyes. A part of me hopes that her soul gets to live on in those three girls." My tone was wistful and filled with sorrow as a new kind of ache began to burn in my chest. Tormund spoke aimlessly about his daughter, who was safe in the Wall, or his son who had been with them, protecting them when he couldn't. Though if they were anything like their father, they didn't need their brothers to protect them.

Sweat drenched down my body and froze just as quickly as it had formed. My legs ached, and my back muscles were sore from carrying my boiled leather and wool cloak, and my thin layer of chainmail just beneath it.

My body ached from the fall I took in Hardhome, most of all. It felt like I got hit by bricks, but it was all worth it when I noticed the Wall. Thick icy layers that, for the time being, kept the wild beyond at bay. I could see Thorn at the top of the Wall, leering at me, hatred burning brighter in his eyes than it ever did before.

But the gates began to open as blurs flashed before my eyes. The ground shook slightly as the wind whipped at the snow. Screeches of joy, as if to say "Father is home," filled the air as they plunged through the sky to get to me,Thorne giving me a hate-filled stare before slowly opening the gate. Tyraxes, bigger than a horse but not ready to be ridden yet, dropped next to me, her head inclined upwards; she expected me to scratch her chin.

Warmth and love bubbled in me as I watched her ruby eyes glare at me, telling me to hurry up and give her some love. I could only let out a laugh as I wrapped my arms around her thickening neck. The scales hot against my skin were a welcome comfort thanks to all the snow and ice. Gently, she nuzzled my neck, her way of hugging me back, before I pulled from her grasp and began to scratch her chin, just like she wanted. Other than growing a bit, the scales on her wings grew a little bit lighter in color, but not so much that it could be noticed.

Tessarion came next; she flapped her wings gently, and the force of the winds being whipped about almost knocked me down. I studied her; there were more streaks of white and gray running down her neck and muzzle. Her underbelly seemed to grow just a bit larger and better armored, as her tail looked to be sporting some new dazzling white spikes that almost looked like crystals. Running a soothing hand over her jaw, I rubbed her face tenderly; it was hard to believe that they were nine months old.

But just as I started to move my hand over to her neck, she and Tyraxes took to the sky as a thunderous screech filled the air. I fell face into the snow, my face chills in my mouth, as the earthy taste of soil began to fill my mouth. While a heavyweight clung to my back, I could feel thick claws poking into my boiled leather as light-hearted laughter filled the air.

"Meleys, please get off." I groaned a little exasperatedly as the weight began to lessen until I could roll over to see deep cobalt blue-clawed legs staring back at me. I sat up from the snow to see Meleys, who had grown larger inside, a little bit smaller than Tessarion but still larger than a horse and Tyraxes.

I smiled gently at her as her deep, once-blue eyes filled with even more depth and love if that was possible. She had a playful and loving air about her that I loved, as with Arya. Quickly, I scratched the underside of her wing; her spiked, malleable tail seemed to grow even more dangerous spikes, starting to grow further up her tail, no longer just at the tip.

Her thick, leathery skin was warm and gentle, filling with joy and purpose as I spoke in a commanding tone but still very much filled with love. "Sōvegon." Jumping happily, she ascended into the sky to dance among the winds.

"Jon?" A shocked and astonished voice forced me to spin sharply on my heels, only to be met with Sam. A sullen and dejected look that very much matched the look of the wildling. His big brown eyes filled with doubt and worry, though they looked as wide as saucers. "What is it, Sam?" I could see the way that he fidgeted, looking up to the sky as his shoulders grew weary and his face even more low and sullen if that were possible.

"Maester Aemon passed while you were gone, and the girls lit his pyre in true Targaryen fashion." The pain in his voice seemed palpable as tears welled in his eyes, and my heart began to ache for yet another good soul gone. The levity and love of the moment had turned to ashes in my mouth. The chilling air ripped at me as I sucked in an unsteady breath. "I'm sorry, Sam, he was a good man."

Sam seemed sullen, and nothing that I could say would change that. I have my losses to mourn, more than 90,000 of them. I could see the way that Sam studied Wun Wun, king of the Giants and the last of his kind. Wonder filled his eyes, but I could still see the pain hidden just beneath that as I spoke in a low, broken tone. "It was a failure." Even as I said the words, they tasted like bile and venom in my mouth, but Sam gave me a stubborn stare as he gave me a pointed look.

"It wasn't." Instinct and coldness in Sam's voice rang in my ears as he glared at me like I had told him that he couldn't keep Gilly. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes or burn with rage as I spoke in an even tone that was somewhat stronger than before. "I went to save them—100,000 of them. And how many do you see, Sam? I have failed."

Sam looked at all the Wildlings coming through and saw the distress on their faces, their pain and sorrow still fresh like a bleeding wound. A wound that wouldn't heal when they saw everything that they had ever known taken from them.

"You didn't fail them," Sam said, pointing to a Wildling who walked by, "or him, or her. Every one of them is alive because of you, and no one else." I knew that, and so did they, but that didn't make the pain any less painful. Instead, I said my goodbyes to Tormund and his people and sent Sam and Gilly off to Oldtown.

Only then, when all my affairs were handled, did I make the journey up the Wall to get a few bitter moments to myself. The black trees loomed overhead, and an ominous feeling of magic and power swirled around them. Dark and evil. I knew that I had to keep the dragons on this side of the Wall; if even one of them fell into the wrong hands, it would be catastrophic.

Maester Aemon said this Wall is cloaked in ancient magic, a wall built by my ancestors and the Children of the Forest. He claimed there were only three ways to break it: Dragonfire, which would never happen; the blood of a Stark child, which was unthinkable; and the third, if enough of the White Walkers' army were to charge the Wall, the magic wards would fail, and it would fall.

Sucking in an unsteady breath, I did my best to fight off those haunting thoughts. I can't stop the last one, but it would take days for them to break the Wall, and by then, they would lose a large portion of their army. I sucked in another breath as I finally sensed a presence behind me. I turned to find none other than Ghost, talking more to me.

Carefully, I dropped to one knee as I ran my fingers through his silky fur. The pain and guilt, all the turmoil from my previous thoughts, slipped away. I didn't know how long I had sat there, but as a deep chill finally started to make me shiver, I knew it was time to get inside the castle.

As I descended, I could see the yard coming to life, no longer a speck that I couldn't see from the top. The more I descended, the more I could see a man with a bald head and a trimmed white and silver beard. His lips pulled into a grim smile as his gray eyes studied me, unsure of what he should tell me.

I smiled, even though I felt like collapsing into bed and never getting out of it ever again. Instead, I focused on the fading white sun as it slowly moved over the horizon. Once the lift hit the ground, I spoke in the most polite tone I could muster.

"Ser Davos, what are you doing here?" The last time I saw him, I had three dragons and a dire wolf ready to leap for his throat. But now, looking at him, I could see that leaving had taken a toll on him. I wouldn't have my children, my dragons, put at risk.

Even now, as he spoke in an urgent and somewhat pleading tone, I walked to the wooden gate that led south. I knew the dragons liked to play there and hunt, and I needed a pick-me-up right about now. Ser Davos walked to my right with long, even strides, as Ghost walked to my left, his mouth watering at the thought of a hunt.

"I've come at the request of Stannis. Our camp was stationed in a cavern, a perfect spot to set up camp when the storm hit. Soon, the fire died, and if anyone tried to leave, they were never seen. I only barely made it here; we need your help." I could hear how hard it was for him to say the words; I'm sure they tasted sour in his mouth. But that didn't change the fact that there would be no help for him.

Even as I opened my mouth to respond, I could tell that he would think this was more about my problem with Stannis than helping good men. I would be lying if I said I wasn't still bitter about what happened. But I wouldn't let good men die over it, even if they were swayed by a crazy woman in red.

"I'm sorry, but the answer is no. And before you say it, this has nothing to do with my dragons and Stannis. Not only do we not have the resources since your man ate up most of our stores, but on top of that, we don't have the men or the mounts. Sorry."

Ser Davos didn't even blink at me; instead, he gritted his teeth, pressed his lips into a flat line, and glared at me as he spoke in a cold tone. "If you can send Stannis what he needs for one battle, it could turn the tide for the entire war. With Winterfell taken and the Boltons gone, Stannis will have the support of the North for defeating the family who murdered their king. He can repay what was given tenfold and has promised to give you just as many men."

His words were sweet, his tone compelling, but my eyes were drawn to Meley and Tyraxes. They were playing, rolling around on the ground, snarling and snapping at each other. But in a moment, the atmosphere changed. Tension grew in the air as Tyraxes snapped at her for real, with crimson flames threatening to fill the air.

"Religion, sir," In a moment, they broke apart, both taking to the air and snapping at each other angrily, but they didn't fling fire or claw each other. Instead, they continued to play. Ser Davos, on the other hand, stared at them with wonder before turning to the only dragon still on the ground.

Tessarion, her wings resting against her back, covering her legs as her tail wrapped gently around her. Her mercury eyes studied the Wildlings as the last few stragglers made their way into the Gift.

She did not attempt to attack them; her large head and long, elegant neck wrapped around a small portion of her body. It's hard to believe that they were once small bags of scales, all tail and wing, not even the size of a pup.

"They have gotten bigger; they are just a bit bigger than horses now, still not big enough for you to ride, but surely they could do some damage against the Boltons' men. They could even make up for our lack in numbers." His tone turned suggestive and cold as my rage began to burn in me. I snarled widely, my voice animalistic and filled with fury as I spoke.

"Whatever help Stannis thought he might get from my dragons was lost the moment he tried to take them from me. No, that will not happen, Tessarion, Tyraxes, and Meleys are not weapons for your king to use and then throw away when he is done."

My tone turned righteous and cold as I sucked in a heavy breath to calm myself. Ser Davos nodded his head sadly as he looked over at the Wildlings who marched across the Gift. Women, children, old men and women, and warriors alike moved to the grassy field, covered in white and gray furs. Ice covered the ground except for where the dragons had been lying.

"The Wildlings will make a difference," Ser Davos said, his voice low, just as I noticed a woman riding a white filly. Her face was hidden beneath a red hood. I spoke offhandedly to Ser Davos. "The Wildlings will never fight for Stannis. I've told you this before-"

"You saved their bloody lives! If they're gonna live in the Seven Kingdoms, safe behind our wall, they ought to fight for the damn place!" His tone grew a few octaves higher as some of the Wildlings who did speak the common tongue looked back at him, giving him a cold look as I sucked in an unsteady and annoyed breath.

They always thought they had a claim to those they saved; people aren't property and they aren't soldiers meant for their convenience. Righteous fury began to rise in my chest as the men got closer, but I pulled my gaze away to give him a cold stare as power began to burn in me once again. "It's not their fight!"

Slowly, Ser Davos glared at me, but I had my eyes focused on a thin woman with a heart-shaped face hidden beneath her hood. Vacant red eyes met my own as she slowly lowered her hood, her wavy red locks clinging to her face, and a sullen and desperate look forming.

Tessarion began to rise before taking off into the air, leaving only the three of us. I watched her dismount her horse; no one rode behind her, and no one was beside her. She seemed utterly alone. I felt pity burn in my heart; I had no love for the bastard, but he could have saved my sister, and he could have.

"Stannis?" I looked at her as she softly shook her head, giving me a desperate look of help that I only responded to with a slight nod. Ser Davos looked close to collapsing, but instead, he stood firm as he spoke in a cool tone. Though I could hear the panic that he tried desperately to hide. "Shireen, what of the princess?"

With another sullen shake of her head, she began to walk off, leaving me with Davos. His eyes were swollen, and pale gray; he looked like he might collapse as his shoulders dropped and his chest caved in. "You're more than welcome to stay here for as long as you need to, but I must get going."

Later that night, there was a knock at the door, and I slowly began to lift my head as Thorne came in. His eyes were cold, but he spoke in an urgent voice. "Lord Commander! It's one of the Wildlings you brought back. Says he knows your uncle Benjen. Says he's still alive."

The tone was cunning and cruel, but there was no way that he would make that kind of joke. My body felt heavy, and after all the marching and fighting, I wanted nothing more than to sleep. But excitement and joy, and most of all, hope, flooded me. If my uncle is alive, then I'm not alone; I still have some family out there who don't hate me.

Quickly, I rushed to my feet and I ran down the deep wooden steps, the moon looming high above. I turned back to see Thorne grinning at me like he knew something that I didn't. It forced worry into my heart for a moment before I spoke in a questioning yet commanding tone. "Are you sure he's talking about Benjen?"

Even as he gave a firm nod and added, "Said he was First Ranger," I knew that there was something wrong. His beady blue eyes studied me to see if I would listen to him. For extra effect, he spoke again, this time with more urgency. "Said he knows where to find him."

As I made my way down the last of the steps, I could see a few of Thorne's buddies in the training yard, Ollie among them. His green eyes shifted, his skin pale, as he spoke in a high-pitched voice. "The man says he saw your uncle at Hardhome the last full moon." That couldn't be right; it took us a month to get here, and another two to get back on foot. I would have seen him. Doubt started to crawl in my mind as I spoke in a doubtful voice. "Could be lying."

Thorne seemed quick to counter from behind me, "Could be. There is only one way to find out: ask him yourself."

"Where is he?" My heart began to hammer as my mind told me to call the dragons, to call Ghost, but I didn't want to scare him off. Instead, I continued to move through the group. I pushed past my brothers with ease, only to see not a Wildling but only a sign that read "TRAITOR." My stomach roiled with rage as I spun sharply on my heels, only to see the steel of Ser Alliser slipping through my flesh easily as he spoke in a low voice. "For the Watch."

Pain, blinding and intense, burned in me as slick liquid spilled from the gash. He pulled his blade out of me and stepped back. I called out to my girls, their names running over in my mind in a loop, hoping I could summon them. But as the copper taste of my blood began to pool in my mouth, my mind began to slip into a pit of darkness. The howls of Ghost filled my ears while the red woman's warning drifted into my mind one last time: "Keep your wolf and dragon close."