Nothing Burns Like The Cold (Game of Thrones fanfiction)

Jon VI

The shadowed fog and mist of the morning had relented into an unusually warm and humid afternoon on Dragonstone. The castle hummed with activity in preparation for tonight's farewell festivities and without so much as a single notice, Jon slipped quietly out the servants' entrance of the guest tower, armed with high spirits and a full skin of good red wine. With twilight fast approaching, Jon trekked the overgrown, broken path that ran adjacent to the southern battlements towards the setting sun, determined to carve out a rare moment of solitude and enjoy the fading remnants of summer on this, his last night on the island before sailing home.

Home, Jon sighed, scarcely believing that he was three months gone from Winterfell. Much to his surprise, Dragonstone had become a welcomed respite and distraction away from the outside world and inevitable grasp of Winter. It was good to be back here, an oddly, satisfying feeling, all things considered. A thousand leagues between here and Winter, Jon mused, enumerating all the pleasurable possibilities Dragonstone had to offer in lieu of the harsh reality waiting for him in the North. One last moment of peace, away from everyone and everything, and by gods, I mean to have it.

Recent events had Jon feeling equally in control and without, the path set forth before him becoming more uncertain with each passing day. Anxious and unnerved but yet somehow filled with anticipation and excitement, the combination left him feeling moody, uncertain as to how things would unfold with so much at stake. Even with Cersei's shaky truce and a promise to send troops North, he couldn't find peace in any of it. No, there is no peace, only staying one step ahead of her. Jon was hardened, gaining a healthy dose of skepticism and political education along the way, guarding against such blind trust that had been the downfall of his family. Like it or not, the game is being played with or without my consent, take part in it or die as Father did.

But Jon knew his battle wasn't for power, lands, or revenge but for all life itself. He thought back to the heroic tales of old; of Bran the Builder, Aegon the Conqueror, Hells, even the legend of Mance Rayder, as it were: Strength in conviction with a single, unifying purpose. But were these pillars of men also fraught with much loss and despair as he was now, precariously teetering on the verge of failure, even extinction? Did they pace through the sleepless nights and not move their bowels for days on end? He laughed softly at the thought, knowing all to well the answer he sought; If he had learned nothing else, he knew for certain that the hard changes of war were always paid with blood and sacrifice. Unfortunately, his journey had been no different.

The hard truth hung wordlessly among those who had seen the Army of the Dead with their own eyes; that unless some divine intervention occurred, the chances of winning this War for the Dawn were near impossible. The expedition beyond the Wall had shown that both Northerners and Wildlings alike could barely stand the frigid cold the White Walkers brought with them. How would the Unsullied and Dothraki fare in such extreme conditions? They couldn't, Jon knew. The North was still reeling from recent wars and the bloody rule of the Boltons, there were too few warriors and too many old men. Even the dragons weren't immune to the threat. Watching Viserion sink beneath the ice to his death, remembering the hell of Hardhome and the raising of 100,000 wights, Jon shivered at the idea of an undead dragon. Let the dragon be too big, the lake too deep, for Daenerys' sake, please.

On all fronts, they were sorely unprepared and outmatched for the challenges they were facing. But such a truth had to be buried deep, never a flicker of it to cross Jon's face or surface to crack in his voice. He needed to be their strength and leader now above all else. Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown, Tyrion had once said. Jon would do all he could to save his people, even if there was only so much that truly could be done.