When the dream ended, Jon’s mind immediately began racing.
There were only two ways for him to reach Pentos.
If he went by ship, there was no chance he could reach Essos within twenty days.
That left only one option.
He would have to ride Frostflame across the Narrow Sea.
But Jon soon frowned again.
Another problem stood before him.
If Frostflame appeared in Pentos, word would inevitably spread.
Then all of Essos would know that dragons, gone from the world for a hundred years, had returned.
And once word of a living dragon reached Westeros, the fragile peace of the Seven Kingdoms would inevitably be broken.
There was an even more important concern.
King Robert would be arriving soon.
If Jon left now, then the tragedies buried within his fragmented memories might still come to pass.
Caught between the two, Jon frowned deeply and thought for a long time without finding a satisfactory answer.
“No.
Think again.
There has to be a way.”
…
Before long, another day had passed, and it was late at night.
Jon stood in his bedchamber holding two letters he had just finished writing.
One was for his father.
He had not written much, only explaining why he was going to Pentos.
That letter had taken him a long time to finish.
Several times he had lifted his pen only to stop again, unsure how he could explain himself to Eddard.
How could he explain why he was willing to risk exposing Frostflame and cross the entire Narrow Sea to save a girl?
The second letter was for Uncle Benjen, telling him where Jon was going and that Frostflame would be leaving The North with him.
Daenerys was in danger, and he had less than a month.
Faced with an impossible choice, Jon had finally come up with a plan.
He would cause enough of a stir in Essos that word of a living dragon spread throughout the world.
Jon slipped past the guards and made his way to the Lord’s study.
He opened the door, made sure no one was inside, then quickly crossed to the desk and tucked the letter beneath a stack of documents.
Afterward, he turned and left the study.
Returning to his room, Jon began packing everything he would need for the journey.
Dried provisions, a waterskin, a map, a pouch of gold dragons and silver stags, and a well-worn ancient book.
All of them were necessary.
Lastly, he slid the Valyrian steel sword Longclaw into its sheath and fastened it at his waist where he could draw it most easily.
The sword was the ancestral blade of House Mormont.
Jeor Mormont had placed it in Jon’s hands himself.
The Old Bear was very old now, and the strain showed whenever he wielded a sword.
Yet his hand had been perfectly steady when he gave Longclaw to Jon.
“I’m old now.
I have little use for it anymore, and my son…”
“When the day comes that you no longer need it, I hope you will return it to House Mormont.”
Jon had never forgotten those words.
He tightened the straps of his pack and checked everything once more before taking a final look around the room.
He had lived here for more than ten years.
Once he left tonight, he had no idea when he would return.
Jon reached out, extinguished the lamp, and stepped through the door into the night.
He moved quietly along the corridor, his boots making almost no sound against the stone.
After leaving the main keep, he did not head directly for the gate.
Instead, he made his way toward the Godswood.
Wind stirred the heart tree, setting its red leaves rustling softly.
From a distance, the canopy resembled a flame bent low beneath the wind.
Jon looked up.
A crow was perched on one of the branches.
Its feathers were pure black, and it tilted its head as it watched him.
Jon stopped.
For a moment, man and bird stared at one another from only a few paces apart.
The crow did not fly away.
It merely ruffled its feathers.
Jon looked away, turned, and continued on.
Once he left the Godswood, the guards on night patrol soon noticed him.
One of them was about to speak, but upon recognizing Jon, he immediately straightened and saluted with his spear in hand.
“My lord.”
Jon merely nodded, and the guard stepped aside at once.
He led his horse through the castle gate and did not mount until he had put enough distance between himself and the walls.
Then he rode north into the wilderness.
The horse’s hooves struck the thin layer of snow with dull, muffled thuds.
Jon looked back one final time.
Winterfell grew smaller and smaller behind him.
The lights along its walls faded from a warm glow into indistinct points, then disappeared entirely into the darkness.
As he approached the place where he was to meet Frostflame, the wind suddenly died.
Snow hung suspended in the air.
Then a powerful gust came crashing down from above.
The warhorse reared in terror, letting out a frightened whinny.
Jon tightened the reins and looked up.
A massive white shape plunged from the gray clouds overhead.
A gale followed in her wake.
Snow exploded upward, turning everything white.
Frostflame landed heavily, her powerful hind legs striking the frozen ground.
Fine cracks immediately spread across the ice beneath her claws.
The horse stumbled several steps backward, nearly tearing the reins from Jon’s hands.
“Easy.”
Jon patted the horse’s neck and soothed it for a moment before dismounting.
He looked at the enormous dragon before him, and at last a faint smile appeared on his face.
Walking up to Frostflame, he raised a hand and stroked the bridge of her snout.
There was no time to waste.
Jon climbed onto her back, secured Longclaw and his pack, and settled himself firmly between the spines along her neck.
“Sōvēs.”
A deep rumble rose from Frostflame’s throat in response.
The next instant, her enormous wings spread wide.
A violent blast of air slammed into the ground, hurling snow and shards of ice into the air.
Jon lowered himself against her back and gripped the spines tightly with both hands.
Frostflame beat her wings.
Her enormous body surged from the ground and rapidly climbed into the sky.
The valley, forests, cliffs, and snowfields quickly fell away beneath them.
In the distance, Winterfell grew smaller and smaller.
Soon the ancient castle was nothing more than a dark silhouette, its lights scattered across the walls like stars in the night.
Frostflame continued climbing.
Wind and snow howled past Jon’s ears until Winterfell finally vanished from sight.
Jon turned his gaze forward and tightened his grip on the dragon’s spines.
From this night onward, the road before him would no longer be confined to this single corner of The North.
The night wind struck his face, sharp enough to sting.
…
The next day.
After breakfast, Eddard and his wife returned to the study to deal with the estate matters left unfinished from the day before.
As Eddard sorted through the documents, a letter appeared from beneath the stack of papers.
His hand stopped.
He picked it up, glanced at the handwriting on the outside, and immediately frowned.
By the time he had finished reading, his breathing had grown rapid and both hands were gripping the letter tightly.
Catelyn noticed the change in her husband’s expression.
“Ned, what happened?”
Eddard did not answer.
He simply handed the letter to his wife.
Catelyn took it and had barely read a few lines before her expression changed as well.
“He’s gone after that Targaryen girl?”
“But why?”
Eddard answered in a low voice.
“He’s told me a great deal about that girl over the past few years.
I’d already guessed what there was between them.”
Catelyn pressed a hand to her forehead and slowly sat down on the nearby stool.
For a long while, she said nothing.
“He’s still a child.”
“He’s grown up.”