Chapter 14: Battle of Bastards

Jon's Point of View

A whisper, carrying the name "Jon," fluttered on the breeze, pulling me from my thoughts. The ground around me was strewn with blankets and furs, and warmth permeated my tent along with soft light.

Tyraxes lay with her head resting on my right thigh, while Tessarion slumbered contentedly, curled up on a mound of bear furs. Her black fur contrasted strikingly against her radiant scales. Meleys emitted a gentle snore, nestled beside Tessarion, her spiked tail carefully unfurled to avoid causing any harm during sleep.

It might seem peculiar to desire their company while I slept, but they had been with me since they were hatchlings. I knew that once they surpassed a year in age, they would outgrow even the grandest of halls, let alone my humble tent. This was my precious time to cherish their warmth at my side.

"Jon," my name whispered on the wind once more, drawing my gaze away from the map of Winterfell. Sansa's face appeared as she poked her head through the tent flap.

Her eyes widened in astonishment as she spotted the three dragons, one of whom seemed to glare at her. I couldn't fathom why, but Tyraxes appeared to hold a grudge against Sansa, perhaps sensing the lingering bitterness I harbored from our childhood. She had tormented me as much as her mother had, although I had assured her that I held no grudges, and meant it. However, Tyraxes seemed to perceive it differently.

"May I come in?" Her voice was soft and tinged with concern, coaxing a smile from me as I nodded. I placed a gentle hand on Tyraxes' warm, scaly neck and redirected my attention to the small war table.

"Please, come in."

She entered the tent, the snarling dire wolf on her deep blue gown seeming to challenge me as she settled herself, folding her legs beneath her.

As her head turned to gaze at Tessarion, I observed her features, watching the past few years melt away, leaving behind a child-like wonder.

Even in slumber, Tessarion was the most breathtaking of the dragons, while Meleys was the friendliest to people. However, it was Tessarion who was more amenable to human contact, as long as I permitted it. It brought a gentle smile to my face.

"When they grow larger, I hope to use them to assist with preparations, perhaps aiding in fertilizing the fields so we can harvest one last time before the ground freezes," I shared my hopes, just as I had with Davos. I trusted my sister, even if she hadn't yet given me a reason to.

The deep ocean-blue pools of Sansa's eyes widened with surprise as she looked back at me, a small smile tugging at her lips while I absentmindedly traced my finger up and down Tyraxes' neck.

"How?" I turned to Sansa, a smile playing on her lips as she gazed up at me with wide, blue eyes. Her childlike wonder was infectious, and I couldn't help but chuckle.

"I was reading about the Targaryen conquest, and everyone knows about the Field of Fire, where the Targaryen dragons set the field ablaze with Balerion. But strangely, their fields became rich and fertile. Maester Aemon told me that as the flames scorched the grass, the ashes left behind fertilized the land. They did it every seven years in old Valyria, or so the tales say. I'm not sure if she'll ever let you ride her alone, but I believe when I take the dragons to the fields, you could accompany me."

A gentle smile graced my lips as I watched joy sparkle in her eyes. Then, her gaze shifted to Tyraxes, who appeared entirely indifferent to her presence. Soft purrs and sweet hisses escaped Sansa's lips as she continued to rest her head on my lap, and somehow, the warmth from within her transferred to me.

Although I seldom felt the cold anymore, ever since my dragons hatched, it seemed like the fire within them kept me warm, even when I wasn't near them. They radiated warmth that extended beyond their physical proximity.

"Don't you find it strange?" Sansa's voice, suggestive and sweet, filled me with concern. I turned to see her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and she cast a questioning look toward the two dragons nestled in slumber and then to Tyraxes in my lap.

"Only dragonlords can ride or even train a dragon. Just touching one could lead to your death. I've heard stories of people who attempted to tame the Targaryen dragons only to be burned alive. Doesn't it make you wonder why? Being a warg can't be the only explanation. I'm sure there were wargs and warlocks when dragons ruled the skies, and yet they never managed to ride them. Don't you find that a bit peculiar?"

At that moment, my mind flashed back to the conversation with Sam just before he left for Oldtown. He had urged me to come up with a better lie than merely being a warg, which allowed me to touch the dragons.

Indeed, being a warg enabled me to enter their minds, but these creatures were highly intelligent, some even surpassing humans in wit. Their wills were like fire, and for most, touching their skin would result in burns. But for me, their skin was, at best, dull warmth. It wasn't to say I couldn't get burned; I understood these were not typical warg abilities. The only other known Targaryen bloodline was the Blackfyres, who left Essos long before the rebellion. There were tales of individuals with some Valyrian blood-taming dragons, but even if I did possess a small fraction of Valyrian lineage, as Sam and Maester Aemon suspected, it wouldn't explain how I could tame all three dragons.

The only Targaryen that could have given birth to me was already pregnant at the time with a girl. Besides, I don't have purple eyes and silver hair. Sure, I have pale skin much like theirs, but that's it. I'm a Northerner, so why does everyone try to suggest otherwise?

I turned to look at Sansa, and I'm sure she could sense my apprehension as I sighed heavily. "I don't know why they chose to follow me, to listen to me, to love me, but it feels right to have them by my side. They are as much a part of my family as you, and Ghost, and I wouldn't feel right without them. I can't say why I can do what I can, but I know I don't have the blood of Old Valyria; it's just not possible. The ones with the strongest blood are across the sea and have been for 21 years."

I was only a few months old when I returned from the war with my father, perhaps three or four months, but the queen died in childbirth after I was born, so it couldn't have been me. Doubt flashed in my mind as I looked at Sansa, but she didn't say a word. She simply nodded her head, her face blank, but I knew that she didn't believe it any more than I did.

I knew that it wasn't because I'm a warg; something deep down told me otherwise, but that didn't matter. I can't be of Old Valyria; I'm just a bastard, nothing more.

I sucked in an exhausted breath, and a tired yawn escaped my lips. After a few minutes of silence, Sansa left, and I slipped off to sleep with one hand on Tyraxes.

I dreamed of riding on Tessarion's back. Her smooth scales made me feel like a dragon lord of old, her body clad in sterling silver, resembling Valyrian steel armor, her wings beating against the blue sky. The sparkling ocean spread beneath me as Tyraxes and Meleys flew to her right and left, their eyes filled with joy. The wind whipped at me, and the salt air kissed my face, filling my heart with a newfound levity I had never felt before. Just as I got used to sitting on Tessarion, it changed.

In a flash, I was riding Meleys, her deep blue scales hidden under silver metal with deep blue ripples. The coolness of the metal felt good as I felt the muscles in Meleys' wings working to let her soar with ease.

As the sky began to darken, and black smoke danced in the air, my skin tingled, and for the last time, I switched mounts. Tyraxes glided across the boiling sea as white steam began to rise from the depths. The sky cracked red, revealing a landmass with fourteen volcanoes. Dangerous power emanated from the land, and lava bubbled and toiled just beneath the surface of the black, cracked earth.

The scent of death and smoke filled the air as the sweet yet sorrowful song of the Dance of Dragons surrounded me. The voice was deep, sweet as honey, and smooth as silk. It tugged at something in my heart, something familiar. Tyraxes flew closer until I could see a temple made of volcanic rock, open to the sky, with three perches.

In the corner of the room, standing on a pile of ashes, I saw a man in black armor, rubies creating a stunning three-headed dragon. I knew it was Rhaegar. His deep purple eyes stared directly at me.

He continued to sing, his words leaving his lips lazily, but urgency filled his face. "You are a dragon, you are the song of fire and ice, a wolf and a dragon both. Awaken and acknowledge your power and birthright."

I bolted upright, rolling onto my side as I surveyed the tent's interior. Only Tessarion remained with me; her silver, mercury-like eyes studied me with what appeared to be a concern. She moved over to me slowly, her horse-sized form settling to my left. Her warmth radiated through me, soothing my nerves as I placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

In my mind, a voice urged me to go to Old Valyria, but I couldn't. I had responsibilities to my people that couldn't be set aside because of a dream. I took in an uneasy breath as my body trembled, gradually exhaling. What did it all mean? What was the "song of ice and fire," and why did Rhaegar think I was a part of it?

Outside, shouts pierced the air as people rushed past my tent in a hurry. We had a battle to prepare for and couldn't afford to waste time. "Good, you're up."

I turned to see Tormund, and just behind him stood Meleys, playfully running her forked tongue along the palm of his hand. She adored Tormund more than anyone else in my life. I couldn't help but chuckle at the sight as I absentmindedly touched Tessarion's chin.

"I'll be up and ready in a minute. Tessarion, go with Tormund," I said, my voice gentle but tinged with the remnants of my haunting dream. Tormund thankfully pretended not to notice, and he departed with the dragons at his side. I couldn't help but notice that even Tyraxes seemed to have taken a liking to him, unlike her reaction to Sansa.

Tessarion's warmth lingered as I took a deep breath, steadying my pulse in the silence that followed. I rose from my makeshift bed, still feeling the remnants of sleep clinging to my body. I donned my boiled leather and strapped Longclaw to my waist before dismantling the tent. It took a few moments, but since we left Castle Black a few moons ago, I had become proficient at it. I managed to get everything in order.

As I moved about the camp, Davos gave me a tired smile while attending to his horse. Off to the side, I noticed Sansa with some of our bannermen; they were tasked with protecting her, and in case things went awry, they were to take her back to the Wall.

"Stay safe," I told her, watching her soft blue eyes for a moment. I knew she still carried the weight of her vengeance and the hatred she harbored for Ramsay. I couldn't offer her vengeance, only justice. I placed a gentle kiss on her cheek and then made my way to the Free Folk, where I knew my dragons were waiting.

With each passing day, I could sense my connection to my dragons growing stronger. Now, I could feel what was in their hearts, and they could sense my own. Tessarion, Tyraxes, and Meleys were tearing into some meat that Tormund had provided. Blood dribbled down their lips as they quickly cooked the meat with their body heat, the sizzle filling the air.

As they looked up at me, their eyes lit up with excitement, almost as if they could smell the scent of battle in the air. The morning sun cast a pale light, and steam rose at my back as I gazed at the undisturbed thick white clouds overhead. They would provide cover for the dragons.

I spoke in High Valyrian, "Follow my lead and stay within the clouds until I give the orders," using a loving yet commanding tone. Not a minute later, their wings faded into the sky, and I watched as my mind reached out to Rickon. "Please stay safe a little longer until I can return home to you and all the people of Winterfell who have suffered under Ramsay's rule," I thought.

"Move out!" I yelled in the Old Tongue, and the Free Folk responded with a furious roar. The battle was about to begin.

The green rolling hills stretched before me, and I felt the reassuring presence of my dragons hidden above the clouds, providing a sense of ease and protection. Knowing they were there to keep me and my men safe was a great comfort.

Ramsay stood across the field, wearing a smug smile and cold, pale blue eyes filled with madness fixed on me. His thin lips curled into a devious and repulsive grin as he tugged on a golden rope.

I watched as Rickon was dragged forth, his wild auburn curls and bright blue eyes filled with shock and terror. His mouth hung open in disbelief as Ghost howled behind me, his snarls echoing the horror of the moment.

Ramsay had dismounted his horse, paying no attention to us. Instead, he pulled harder on the rope until Rickon stood before him. I could see Ramsay's mouth curl into a dangerous smile as he leaned close, his lips pressing against Rickon's ear.

Lords Karstark and Umber, filled with rage and hatred, glared coldly at me. My heart pounded loudly as I observed Rickon, dressed like a wildling in thick white and gray furs, barely thirteen years old. He couldn't die, not now.

Ramsay drew a dagger, and for a horrifying moment, I thought he meant to slit Rickon's throat. However, he raised the dagger high for all to see. My horse inched forward as Ramsay cut the ropes, dropping them to the ground. Rickon looked utterly bewildered, unsure whether to start running. It wasn't until Ramsay drew his longbow and nocked an arrow that Rickon began to sprint.

Panic consumed me, and for a moment, I lost my senses. I drove my spurs into the powerful beast beneath me, and the wind whipped at my face as the thunderous sound of hooves filled my ears. My rage and panic surged through my body, and the dragons grew restless, eager to assist but obedient to my commands.

The buzzing of the first arrow as it sailed past heightened my heart rate, so I spurred my horse once more, gaining a slight burst of speed. However, the gap between us and Rickon remained unchanged. Rickon glanced back, his pace quickening as he struggled. I wanted to scream at him to stop looking back, to dodge or zigzag, to do anything to evade the arrows.

But with each arrow he loosed, he drew nearer to hitting his mark. "Come on!" I shouted, ducking low on my horse and leaning to the right in the hope that Rickon would catch my hand. Then, a whizzing sound filled the air.

A steel arrowhead pierced through his back and into his heart. I watched in agony as his blue eyes widened, and he reached out to me, so close that I could almost touch him. But there was nothing I could do except hope against all odds that it had missed his heart. Then, the sharp twang of a bowstring was released and the sharp whizzes of arrows filled the air.

Two more arrows pierced his body, and at that very moment, I reached him. I could hear his labored gasps and wheezing as I dropped to my knees, his soft blue eyes losing the light they once held. Tears welled in my eyes as a haze of red clouded my vision, the crimson fluid flowing from his body, staining the grass beneath him.

Ramsay laughed, waiting for me to charge so that he could pepper me with arrows. Rage consumed me, overriding any rational thought. The emotions that boiled within me, the sorrow that filled my heart, resonated within my dragons.

"Dracarys!" I bellowed the word echoing and booming through the empty air. Ramsay stared at me as if I were mad, but my rage was relentless, and it would not subside until I witnessed his demise.

For the first time since my dream of the dragons, I heard three furious roars, each unique yet united in their fury and pain. The banners whipped in the wind, and the ground shook. Tessarion, Meleys, and Tyraxes soared through the air, tucking their wings and allowing themselves to descend. The clouds parted and transformed into wispy white smoke, filling my nostrils with the scent of burning.

I clutched Rickon's lifeless body tightly, tears of rage streaming down my face as I held onto the hope of some remaining life within him. But even as my heart ached, his body remained cold and unresponsive. Instead, I found solace in the terror that filled Ramsay's eyes as he watched my dragons set the land ablaze.

Tessarion led the charge, her mouth opening wide as she neared the panicking army. Silver and white flames danced across the infantrymen, who screamed as the scent of burning flesh and smoke filled the air. I could hear Ramsay's shrill voice as his horse threatened to throw him. "Archers, lose your arrows!"

His eyes widened with fear, but it didn't matter to me; I yearned for his slow demise. I mounted my horse as the army eagerly awaited orders. Tyraxes' roar reverberated through the ground, causing the horses to neigh in panic. Crimson flames erupted, devouring the entire cavalry. The anguished cries of the dying horses stirred a momentary feeling of pity within me, but it was reserved only for them.

Finally, Meley's flames, as blue as the ocean, tore through the vanguard, ushering death across the field. Fear hung heavily in the air as I gazed upon a cloud of black smoke, and the terror-filled screams filled me with perverse joy. Rage had smoldered in my heart, and only the enemy's blood, those who had a hand in slaying my family, could extinguish it. Yet, I would still require them to combat the army of the dead.

"Tessarion, Tyraxes, and Meleys retreat to the clouds! Everyone else, charge!" With a resounding battle cry, the thunderous hooves pounded against the ground as I surged forward into the chaos. Blackness swirled around me, but it didn't suffocate me as I had anticipated. Instead, I slashed and hacked at every last Umber and Karstark in sight.

Blood erupted as I slashed and hacked, severing heads, body parts, and organs alike. Fury surged through me as I sprinted through the smoke, drenched in blood, and my senses gradually returned. Amidst the chaos, I spotted Tormund and Wun Wun, though I had no idea how long they had been there.

My body felt burdensome, yet I was consumed by a sense of bloodlust and euphoria as the horns of the Vale houses blared into the air. Clad in pristine silver armor, they pressed forward, despite choking on the scent of burning flesh. Doubt and confusion filled their eyes as their horses galloped through the fields, attempting to engage in combat, yet most of them encountered broken men who had surrendered, casting their swords aside.

As the smoke began to dissipate and the resounding horn of surrender echoed powerfully through the air, I caught sight of Ramsay. His army might have been surrendering, but he remained undeterred. Flanked by a few loyal men, they raced across the rolling hills, desperately seeking refuge within Winterfell.

I wouldn't allow that to happen. I turned to Tormund, and he smiled at me, intoxicated by bloodlust. The three of us charged forward. The thunderous steps of Wun Wun reverberated through the air, shaking the ground and drowning out the pounding of blood in my ears.

Tormund let out a hearty laugh as Winterfell came into view. Archers lined the walls, their eyes filled with doubt as they beheld the towering figure of Wun Wun. However, I was determined not to let them impede our progress. I could see Tessarion soaring above, and I established a mental connection with her, issuing my commands.

"Tessarion, burn the archers but spare the walls. Wun Wun, break down the gate," I ordered, shouting the instructions for added emphasis.

With a few mighty punches and anguished roars, Wun Wun shattered the gate, just as Tessarion unleashed a short burst of silver, fiery projectiles of destruction. The men on the wall fell before they could even knock an arrow. As we burst through the gate, Tormund slashed and hacked, while Wun Wun backhanded our foes, sending them hurtling into the stonewall, their bodies exploding into a crimson mess.

I proclaimed, "Your garrison is in ruins, the other lords are dead, and you stand no chance against us. For your good, surrender."

Yet, even as I uttered those words, I felt Tessarion's presence at my back, her thoughts echoing in my mind, "You can't trust them."

I knew she was right, and her wisdom became apparent when a sharp whack echoed through the air. I witnessed Wun Wun swatting aside an arrow, leaving only Ramsay standing, his defiance masked by madness. There was even a twisted smile on his face as he spoke in an amused tone, "You suggested one-on-one combat."

Ramsay surveyed the scene as the Free Folk streamed in, and Wun Wun loomed over him, but he showed no signs of despair. "I've had a change of heart. I believe that's a splendid idea." Before I could respond, I watched him nock another arrow. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a shield bearing the proud bear sigil, unmistakably a Mormont shield.

I swiftly dove to my right, seizing the shield just in time to intercept the arrow. With a dull thud, it pierced the shield mere inches from my face, but I pressed on, driven by anger and throwing caution to the wind. "We end this now."

Ramsay attempted to shoot at me once more, but I raised the shield to protect myself, aware that if he were more cunning, he might aim for my legs. As he drew his third arrow, it became clear that the outcome was already decided. With all my might and fury, I drove the shield into his face, the sickening crunch of bones filling me with grim satisfaction

Throwing punch after punch the feel of his bones cracking beneath me filled me with joy as his blood grew slick against my hands. Blood pooled into his right eye, but even as I beat him bloody, he didn't panic or show fear instead he laughed. The wet sound of sputtering and gurgling fills my ears as blood slips from his lips.

I might have continued, but I sensed tension in the air. As I glanced over, I saw Sansa staring at me. Her eyes conveyed a clear message: "He's not yours to kill," and she was right.

Ghost, with his crimson red eyes, stared at me, and I noticed Tormund waiting, curious to see if I was finished. He seemed to have gained a newfound appreciation for me.

"Put him with the dogs," I instructed, "and alert me when the other lords are here. Get a stonemason ready; I want my brother's body placed beside our brother and father." My voice carried authority as I picked up my longsword and sheathed it before heading into the godswood.

Winterfell is mine, but at what cost? I let my anger get the best of me. I needed those men for the army of the dead, yet I had them burned alive. But they were the ones who betrayed my family and the North. Wasn't it what they deserved?

A thousand, if not two thousand, were dead, along with a considerable amount of equipment that might have been needed. I raised my head from my thoughts to spot my girls; Tyraxes hung in one of the low branches of the heart tree.

Tessarion rested by the roots of the heart tree, while Meleys gazed longingly at the pool as if she yearned to jump in. A light chuckle escaped my lips as I settled down at the tree's base.

None of them rushed towards me. From this one battle, I sensed they understood me better than they did yesterday, and the feeling was mutual. They knew I needed both comfort and time. So they slept, undisturbed, and I couldn't help but feel grateful.

I examined Longclaw, its blade smeared with the blood of countless foes. Slowly, I dipped the sword into the pool, observing as the cool water swirled around the blade. The water gradually turned from deep crimson to faded pink until the blood was almost entirely gone from both the pool and my blade. I meticulously dried it off and admired the rippling Valyrian steel before retrieving a wet stone. As I sharpened my blade, the air grew still, and a sense of tranquility washed over me.

"It will take a few days for the other lords to arrive. In the meantime, those already here are in the great hall, toasting to the victory. You should address them. I'm sure more than a few are boasting about your feat of destroying over a thousand men with only your dragons," Sansa's calm voice shattered my peace, replacing it with underlying anger. I took in an unsteady breath and glared coldly at her.

"I had hoped to keep them hidden so that only the North would hear of them. But you brought in the Vale, and even now, word is spreading not only through the North but also the South. What were you thinking, bringing them here? Bringing Littlefinger here after he betrayed you to that monster!"

My voice grew slightly louder as I observed her blue eyes narrowing with hatred, a sneer forming on her soft lips. "Don't you think I know that? When I first sought their aid, I did not know about your dragons. I sent word to the Vale for help just before escaping Winterfell. How could I have known you had three dragons?" Her voice resonated with anger and hurt. All I could manage was to take a steadying breath and attempt to calm myself.

"You're right; I'm sorry. But the fact remains, we cannot trust them as long as Littlefinger is leading them."

I wanted to express that we might not even need their support anymore, and perhaps we should send a letter indicating our independence from their assistance. This decision seemed foolish to me, potentially putting my dragons and children in harm's way. Rage blinded me, my heart tightened, and anger threatened to spill from my lips. The dragons stirred, ready to rise at any moment. I could only calm them and myself as she continued speaking.

"Brienne will return soon with word from the Riverlands, and hopefully, my uncle, the Blackfish." I gave a sharp nod but refrained from speaking; my voice couldn't be trusted. I focused on sharpening my steel and feeling the stillness in the air.

"Alright, for now, I'll stay here and contemplate what to do about the army of the dead. You go enjoy the drinks and festivities. I'm not in the mood, not after all we've lost." I took in several deep breaths before Sansa nodded and departed from the Godswood. We had taken the North, and now we had to protect it from those who sought to seize it from us, starting with the army of the dead. Yet, how could I face the dead if I couldn't even trust my sister?