Chapter 12: They burned her

Davos' POV

The soft neighs of my horse filled my ears as I rode in the middle of the column. Unease consumed me as I looked up to see the dragons looming overhead. I had seen them since they were hatchlings, yet I still felt uneasy around them. Perhaps it was the memory of the fire that consumed my son's ships at the Battle of Blackwater Bay, or maybe it was the Red Woman who took pride in burning people alive. Regardless, I couldn't trust any creature that could breathe flames.

Nevertheless, they were still breathtaking to watch. Tessarion flew at Jon's side while he talked easily with Tormund. Tormund's booming laughter filled the air, and his eyes sparkled with an easy smile. Not once did he seem bothered by Tessarion. Meleys flew by and playfully licked Tormund's face, then darted back into the sky. She was more playful than her sisters.

However, I never mistook that playfulness for weakness. Meleys possessed fire, claws, razor-sharp teeth, and a dangerous spike on her tail, making her a triple threat. Then there was Tyraxes, darting in and out of the sky, occasionally doubling back because we were moving too slowly.

To Jon's right, Tessarion stared coldly at the road, vigilant for any threats, her mercury eyes gleaming. "Once you get past the fire, claws, wings, and hot skin, they are breathtaking," Lady Sansa remarked with joy, her lips forming an 'O' shape as if pondering something. "Do you think they'll find other riders? I know Jon is going to ride one, but what about the other two? I know historical dragons were ridden by Targaryens, but Jon doesn't have the blood of Old Valyria, yet he can control them."

Even as she spoke, I couldn't believe her words. There was no way Jon could control these beasts unless he had Old Valyrian blood in his veins. Unfortunately, we would never know unless his father returned from the grave. Perhaps the Red Woman could see it in her flames.

I turned to look at the Red Woman, her head dipped, wearing a sullen expression, her shoulders sagging with doubt, and her red eyes clouded. "Ser Davos, is something wrong?" Sansa's sweet but guarded voice snapped me out of my thoughts. She was no longer gazing at Jon's dragons in wonder but seemed to be studying me.

"No, nothing is wrong. I was just thinking about what you said. I think it has more to do with the dragons than Jon. It's said that if a dragon senses weakness or hesitation in its rider, it may turn on them. Even pure-blood Targaryens have been killed by their dragons," I replied, taking a deep breath as the cold air filled my lungs, and the falling snow began to blanket the ground.

Tessarion's scales sizzled as Jon ran a hand over them while holding the reins firmly with the other. "Tessarion, go scout ahead and find us a campsite, okay?" Jon spoke in a gentle but firm tone, scritching her scales for a moment before she ascended into the sky. The sound of her wings beating against the air was deafening as Sansa and I made our way to the front of the column.

Jon offered me a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his head gently before his expression turned cold and impassive. "Sorry about earlier. She likes to watch over me, especially after that night at the castle." With a melancholy shake of his head, Sansa summoned a radiant smile and spoke in an almost childlike tone, "Could I ride her when she gets bigger?" Jon chuckled gently, though doubt still flickered in his eyes. He didn't voice it but replied hopefully, "That depends on whether they choose you. But you can always ride with me."

The rest of the ride was uneventful until we heard cries, more like screeches of victory. Jon spurred his horse, and I worried he might have harmed it, but when we reached a lightly snow-covered clearing, I saw no blood, only three dragons waiting patiently.

My chest ached as I remembered this place; it was where I last saw the princess since the days of Stannis. Turmoil filled me as I helped set up camp. Setting up didn't take long, so I set out to find Jon. We had a meeting scheduled shortly, and as I walked through the camp, I heard a sweet, earthy voice speaking High Valyrian.

I reached a barren meadow with white snow clinging to the grass and found Jon. He had his back to me, but I could sense the ease and relief in his posture as his dragons danced to the sound of his voice. His words, sweet yet melancholy, stole the air from my lungs as I listened to the sorrowful melody.

As the song ended, I saw the tension in his body, but when the girls went off to hunt, he turned to me with a bashful grin forming on his face. "I've been singing to them since they were hatchlings, and every time I do, I can feel our bond growing stronger, like a cord tethering our hearts together. In moments like these, I know they'll never accept anyone but me as their rider."

He seemed almost sad about that, but he continued to ramble as he walked over to me. He then spun sharply on his heel, gazing at the sky. "I've been teaching them commands that will help me when I finally ride them into battle—commands like evade, dodge, zigzag motions, loops, and flight recovery. Any of those commands could save them from arrows or scorpions. According to Maester Aenom's book, it's nearly impossible for regular weapons to harm them while they're in the sky. Still, I need to find a skilled blacksmith. I want them to have armor for the real battle. Do you know anyone with the skill? It's a demanding task that would take months to complete."

My thoughts turned to Gendry, a talented smith and Robert Baratheon's only living bastard. Jon seemed unfazed by this information and grinned beside me, seemingly unafraid of any trouble it might bring.

"I know I can be fierce when it comes to my dragons, and I wanted to apologize for earlier. You were trying to help Stannis, and I know that dragons and their power are alluring. They're growing so fast, and soon, I won't be able to hide them from the Southern, Western, or Dornish. Even the Ironborn would want a piece of them. Don't get me started on Highgarden and their hatred for dragons after what Aegon did to them."

Jon's tone softened with concern, and I couldn't help but think he was nothing like Stannis, which was a relief. "I honestly don't know, but have you thought about the dragons? They'll soon be big enough for war, and with winter approaching and the Long Night looming, the realm won't wait until the dead are defeated to come after you. The only way to ensure the well-being of your people may be to rule."

My tone was suggestive and cool as I looked at Jon. His shoulders slumped, and he let out a heavy breath. A flicker of anxiety crossed his face briefly before he smiled gently, gazing up at the sky with wonder. I followed suit as Tessarion's mercury-colored eyes studied me while she flew overhead, and her sisters snapped at a squealing pig. The dragons' bright flames illuminated the sky as they tore the burning corpse apart.

Jon continued, "From what I've read in the old scrolls, a dragon may have many riders, but a dragon rider will only ever ride one dragon. No one knows why or what happens when they do switch. I've decided to be the one to test it. Our understanding of dragons must evolve with time if they are to survive. If the dragons of old hadn't grown feeble, perhaps that rebellion would never have occurred. No man's love would have saved him from the breath of a dragon. Rhaegar would have been king, and all this war and famine might not have happened. Maybe the Crown would be helping us fight the dead instead of ignoring it."

His tone was filled with grief as if he had lost someone dear during that war, though he was just a babe at the time. "Did you know that when a dragon sets a field on fire, the leftover material, both dead and living, rejuvenates the soil, making it fertile and crops more abundant? I plan on doing the same when we retake Winterfell. There are still a few months left to plant and harvest, and many barren fields in the North. It will be one of the first things I do when they're big enough to fly. Come, we should return to camp; the meeting will start."

With a numb nod, we began to walk in silence. As we walked, I listened to the sound of hammers striking pegs and anvils, feeling the tension in the air. Jon spoke in a low tone, "Other than a few loyal families, we won't have many allies. I'm going to wait to use the dragons to bring them to us, and I'll do my best to keep my temper. But once you hear the dragons screech and the words 'Dracarys,' make sure the men don't charge until I give the order. I don't want them caught in the Dragonfire."

His voice was cruel and cold, and it carried a foreboding knowledge that made me glance at his sullen gray eyes. The once-burning light in his eyes had dimmed, and I knew something was amiss. "Jon, what is it?"

"I don't think Rickon will make it out of this alive. I've had a sinking feeling since I saw Shaggydog's head. Rob lost his dire wolf and died, Nymeria hasn't been seen since the Trident, and Arya is dead. Bran's dire wolf is missing, and he is dead. Sansa's wolf is dead, and while she is alive, if she had stayed in King's Landing or Winterfell a minute longer, she would be dead. If I follow this pattern, Ramsay will kill Rickon, whether he wins or loses this battle, and I don't know if I can bear that. I've always had a temper, but I've kept it under control. I can't bear losing another brother."

I could only nod, praying that Lord Rickon would survive. We entered the tent with Jon behind me, and I saw Tormund standing there, eyeing me with his cool blue eyes. Sansa leaned over the table, her red hair cascading over her shoulders, her own blue eyes hard, cold, and eager for vengeance. With a kind smile, she looked up at us, though her thoughts appeared grim. "Shall we get started?"

Jon's POV

Taking a deep breath, I started making my way through the camp, grateful that the meeting was over. The fresh frigid air felt invigorating against my skin. The sun was shining brightly, but it provided no warmth.

It didn't matter, though. As I reached the white snow-covered clearing, my girls were waiting for me. Warmth flooded my heart as I smiled gently at them. Meleys rushed towards me, excitement in her eyes as if she wanted to reach me before Tyraxes stole all my attention. A large blue blur was all I saw as her excitement overwhelmed me. Then, she stood before me, only a year old but already the size of a horse and growing fast.

A smile played on my lips as I began to run my hand along her smooth scales. Her body warmth chased away the cold, and the snow sizzled under her. Looking into her deep blue eyes, I felt a connection, as if the world reflected in her mind played in my head. Balerion the Black Dread flew over an ocean, and I saw a forgotten city with mighty black walls and glowing crystals on tall towers.

As I tried to glimpse Aegon the Conqueror on Balerion's back, Ser Davos's voice pulled me back to reality. I turned to look at him, and he said, "The Northern lords are here."

I nodded numbly, returning my attention to Meleys. Rubbing her snout gently, I recalled that I had requested to meet the Northern lords before going to war. At the time, it seemed like a good idea, but now, my body was weary from riding, and my mind was sluggish from hours spent studying maps and terrain.

At this point, all I wanted was some rest, but there was no time for that. I had to retake Winterfell for my family and honor their memory. "Jon," Ser Davos cleared his throat, breaking my thoughts. Slowly, I turned my attention to him, but it was the soft gasps and snarls of rage that indicated the arrival of the lords.

Tyraxes moved closer to my side, her ruby-red eyes glaring at the men, while sparks of red flames danced from her nostrils. Her imposing wings and shining scales created an intimidating presence, making the lords visibly uncomfortable. Tessarion moved to my left, her vigilant silver eyes locking onto the lords, who appeared nervous in her presence.

I noticed Lady Mormont was absent, but the other lords were there. Tormund boldly approached, seemingly unfazed by the dragons. His bright blue eyes forced a gentle smile on my face, and Meleys lunged at him. The others flinched back, shocked, but Meleys only wanted to nudge Tormund, urging him to interact with her.

Then, I turned my attention to the Lord of House Hornwood, whose face shifted from sullenness to fear and doubt, and the same went for the Lord of House Mazin. "I know I asked for men, but I didn't disclose our strength. Even with just 2,400 men, three dragons are worth an entire army."

I let my words sink in. They stared, mouths agape, doubt and fear twinkling in their eyes. But I smiled at them, continuing to speak. "The girls will provide air support. When our forces are overwhelmed, they will swoop in. I implore all of you to move far from the enemy ranks when they do. Dragonfire is something no man can outrun."

Watching them, I saw doubt and fear creeping into their eyes, and I wasn't the only one to notice. Tyraxes fed on their fear, savoring it. Her eyes bore into them with cold indifference, as if they weren't even worth her attention. The lords' legs shook with fear and dread as Tessarion screeched at them.

I knew this wouldn't be easy for them to accept, but it was better for them to know now than to discover three dragons breathing fire on the battlefield. A headache was beginning to form as I rubbed my temples gently, but Meleys' soft purring brought some comfort. Still, I knew this would be an uphill battle, even after we secured the North.

That Night - Davos's POV

The wind howled, cold and relentless against my back, sending shivers down my spine. I tightened my cloak around me, trying to shield myself from the biting cold. My lips felt dry and cracked as the icy wind whipped across my face. I noticed ash scattered on a portion of the land and approached it, suspecting it might be remnants of the dragons. Jon had an extra-large tent made for himself, where he slept alongside his dragons. They were the size of horses, and it was easy to imagine the size of that massive tent.

But now, it was broken down and packed up by Jon himself. He claimed that if he was going to demand such a large tent, he might as well be the one to set it up and take it down. I was sure he was sleeping peacefully in there now, warmed by the presence of the dragons.

The howling wind continued to batter me as I knelt to inspect the ash-covered ground. It reminded me of Highgarden and the fields of fire during the Targaryen conquest. Dragonfire consumed everything in its path until nothing was left. Panic began to seize me when I noticed something hidden among the shadows and ash.

As I knelt, the snow melted into my pants, burning my knees, and the cold ground gnawed at my skin. Normally, I would have jumped back to my feet, but now my fingers curled around a wooden stag, with one and a half horns burned off. Rage surged through me at once.

"They killed her!! They killed her!!!" I roared in fury, but the howling wind drowned out my cries. Tears froze on my cheeks as I wept, my heart sinking into my stomach. My cries of anguish seemed to echo in the frigid air, but there was no response.

I couldn't believe it. They had killed Shireen, the innocent girl who had been like a daughter to me. How could they have done such a monstrous thing? That vile woman, Melisandre, and Stannis had allowed it to happen. They had no shame.

Anger and determination coursed through my veins. They would pay for what they had done, especially Melisandre. She wouldn't live for much longer if I had anything to say about it.