The wind whipped past Jon's face as Drogon soared through the air, high above the desolate landscape. The cold of the North was bitter even at this altitude, but there was a warmth that radiated from Drogon's immense body, a constant reminder of the raw power the dragon wielded. Below them, the frozen wasteland stretched endlessly, broken only by the faint silhouette of Eastwatch and the Wall in the far distance.
The others clung tightly to Drogon's spines, their faces pale and wind-battered from the brutal ride. Gendry, who had never experienced anything like this, stared wide-eyed at the ground below, while Tormund clung on with a mix of awe and determination. Beric and Thoros, seasoned veterans of many battles, were silent, their eyes scanning the horizon, ever-watchful for danger.
Jon sat directly behind Daenerys, feeling the dragon's immense muscles ripple beneath them with every beat of its wings. The cold still nipped at him, but for the first time in what felt like days, there was a sense of relief—however brief. They had captured a wight. They had proof of the threat that lay beyond the Wall. And for now, they were alive.
But Jon's thoughts were far from peaceful. His mind replayed the encounter with the Night King over and over, the memory of those piercing blue eyes still haunting him. The Night King was no ordinary foe. He was death itself, an ancient and unstoppable force that seemed to grow stronger with every passing moment. Jon couldn't shake the feeling that they had only delayed the inevitable.
Daenerys glanced back at him, her silver hair streaming in the wind. "We'll be at Dragonstone soon," she called over the roar of the wind. "You'll have your proof. Now, maybe they'll listen."
Jon nodded, though his expression remained grim. "I hope you're right," he shouted back. "If they don't… all of this will have been for nothing."
Daenerys didn't reply, but Jon could see the determination in her eyes. She believed in their mission as much as he did. And though they had started as strangers—mistrusting and wary of one another—there was now an unspoken bond between them. A bond forged in the fires of war and tempered by the frozen grip of death.
After what felt like hours, the familiar shape of Dragonstone's cliffs loomed on the horizon. The sky had begun to darken, the last rays of sunlight casting an eerie glow over the island. The sea churned beneath them, the waves crashing against the black rocks that jutted out of the water like jagged teeth.
As they approached, Rhaegal and Viserion circled overhead, their massive forms casting long shadows over the castle. Drogon let out a low, thunderous growl in greeting, and the other dragons responded in kind, their roars echoing across the water.
Daenerys guided Drogon toward the courtyard, and with a final flap of his wings, the dragon landed with a heavy thud, sending gusts of wind and dust flying in every direction. Jon and the others dismounted, their legs shaky from the ride but their spirits lifted. For now, they were safe.
Waiting for them in the courtyard were Tyrion, Davos, Missandei, and a host of Unsullied soldiers. Tyrion's sharp eyes took in the group as they approached, lingering on the bound, writhing form of the captured wight.
"You found one," Tyrion said, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief.
"We did," Jon replied, his voice hoarse from the cold. "This is the proof we needed."
The wight snarled and gnashed its teeth, its movements jerky and unnatural. Its lifeless eyes glinted in the fading light, a chilling reminder of the horrors that awaited them beyond the Wall.
Tyrion took a cautious step closer, his face pale. "I've heard tales of the dead walking, but… seeing it with my own eyes is another matter."
Davos, who had been watching silently, approached Jon and clasped his shoulder. "You've done well, lad. But now comes the harder part—convincing the others."
Jon nodded grimly. "It's not just about convincing them. We need to unite them. The living need to fight together, or we'll all die."
Daenerys stepped forward, her gaze hard as she looked down at the wight. "We'll summon the lords of Westeros. Show them what we've seen. They won't be able to deny the truth when it's staring them in the face."
Tyrion's brow furrowed as he considered her words. "Cersei won't be easy to convince. She won't care about the threat beyond the Wall unless it serves her interests. We'll need more than just this… creature to sway her."
Jon crossed his arms, his expression set. "If she doesn't listen, she'll die like the rest of us. This isn't a war for a throne—it's a war for survival."
Tyrion let out a deep sigh. "I'll send word to King's Landing. We'll arrange a meeting, but don't expect Cersei to play fair."
Jon's jaw tightened. He knew what kind of person Cersei was—ruthless, cunning, and willing to sacrifice anyone for her own gain. But the stakes were too high to let personal grudges cloud their judgment. If they were to survive the coming storm, they would need every ally they could muster.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Dragonstone in shadow, Jon turned his attention back to Daenerys. "We'll need to act quickly. The Night King's army is growing, and they're moving south. We don't have much time."
Daenerys nodded. "We'll prepare for the meeting. I'll bring my dragons if need be. Let Cersei see what power she's dealing with."
Jon glanced up at Drogon, who was resting on the far side of the courtyard, his massive form curled around himself like a sleeping beast. The dragons were powerful, yes, but even their fire might not be enough to stop the Night King. The dead did not fear flame, and Jon knew that their true enemy was not one that could be burned away so easily.
"I hope it's enough," Jon said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.
Inside the halls of Dragonstone, the group gathered around the war table. Maps of Westeros were spread out before them, the carved pieces representing the armies of men and the various houses scattered across the continent. But now, new pieces had been added—small, crude figures that represented the dead, marching steadily southward.
Jon, Daenerys, Tyrion, and Davos studied the map in silence, the weight of their task heavy on their shoulders.
"We'll need to secure an audience with Cersei as soon as possible," Tyrion said, his finger tracing a path along the map from Dragonstone to King's Landing. "But we also need to ensure that the North and the Vale are prepared for what's coming. The dead will reach Winterfell sooner than we think."
Jon nodded. "I'll send word to Sansa. She'll need to fortify Winterfell and rally the Northern lords. If the Wall falls…"
He trailed off, unable to finish the thought. If the Wall fell, the North would be the first to fall to the Night King's army. And from there, the dead would sweep through Westeros like a plague.
Daenerys placed her hand on the table, her eyes hard with resolve. "We'll meet with Cersei, and we'll show her the truth. And if she refuses to join us, we'll march on King's Landing ourselves."
Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "With fire and blood?"
Daenerys's gaze flickered, but she didn't respond immediately. Finally, she spoke, her voice calm but fierce. "If it comes to that… yes."
Jon's stomach churned at the thought. Another war, another river of blood spilled. But if Cersei refused to see reason, they might have no choice. The living could not afford to fight amongst themselves while the dead marched closer.
Davos stepped forward, his voice quiet but firm. "We'll need to be careful. This alliance—fragile as it is—might be the only chance we have."
Jon glanced around the room, his eyes lingering on each of his companions. They were united in purpose, but the path ahead was treacherous. Every decision, every move they made, could tip the balance in the coming war. And with the Night King watching from the shadows, they couldn't afford any mistakes.
"We'll do what we must," Jon said finally, his voice steady. "For the living."
As they prepared for the long road to King's Landing, Jon couldn't shake the feeling that the real battle had only just begun. The war for the throne was nothing compared to what lay beyond the Wall. And if they failed, all of Westeros would fall into darkness.
The dead were coming.
And time was running out.