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Chapter 80 Jon Targaryen

When word reached the Northern alliance camp that Daenerys was about to cross the Narrow Sea, silence fell over the high-ranking officers—especially when they learned she commanded three dragons. Fears for the future hung heavy in the air.

"Gentlemen, we stand at a precipice," Stannis declared, addressing the assembled lords. "Beyond the Wall, an army of wights waits. Across the Narrow Sea, Daenerys Targaryen marches with near ten thousand men. One has White Walkers, the other has dragons. Both could destroy us."

"The situation is dire," Eddard Stark said, after a long pause. "Should we recall our bannermen to their own lands? Or march south, to garrison Harrenhal? As for the White Walkers—we have the Free Folk warriors, and we have the Wall. We can hold them back, for now."

"I agree with Lord Eddard," said Brynden Tully, the Blackfish. "We face two foes. The White Walkers are still blocked by the Wall, but if the Targaryen army crosses the sea and takes Dragonstone, we'll have no natural defenses left. Those three dragons alone could crush any resistance."

His words resonated with the lords. They all knew the threat beyond the Wall remained—but it was not an immediate battle. Daenerys's army, however, was a tangible, approaching danger. No one could be sure if she would mirror the Mad King's cruelty, and punish those who had helped overthrow House Targaryen.

"Actually, we need not fear the Targaryen army so much," Owen said, cutting through the murmurs.

All eyes turned to him—the half-god whose deeds had made him a legend across Westeros.

"Your Grace," Owen said, turning to Stannis, "if Daenerys takes Dragonstone with her army, would you rally all your forces to fight her for the island?"

Stannis thought for a moment. "No. I would not throw my men into a sea battle against dragons for a single island. I would wait for her on land—and make her pay for trying to land."

"A wise choice," Owen said, bowing slightly. "If we do not contest Dragonstone, then we have no reason to panic. The one who should be nervous is the queen in King's Landing."

"Of course," Eddard said, catching on. "Cersei's hunger for power means she will never tolerate a strong enemy so close. She will not sit idle."

"Exactly," Owen agreed. "And though Cersei has fallen out with Dorne, she now has the Iron Islands' support. The Ironborn fleet is no weak force. Daenerys may take Dragonstone easily—but getting off it will be far harder." He added, "Besides, dragons are not invulnerable. The siege crossbows on warships can kill them."

Owen's words opened new paths of thought. The lords debated fiercely, offering countless suggestions, until a plan took shape: the alliance would send south the armies of the Riverlands, the Reach, and the Stormlands—they would return to their fiefdoms to strengthen southern defenses. The Vale's cavalry, the Northern army, and Dragonstone's navy would remain in the North—but their garrisons would pull back, vacating the Gift and unclaimed Northern lands to settle the nearly ten thousand Free Folk.

A portion of the Free Folk's able-bodied men would stay at Castle Black, forming a permanent Northern garrison on the Wall. The North as a whole would supply their weapons and armor.

The next day, the Riverlands and Stormlands armies began their orderly withdrawal, escorting groups of Free Folk south. Northern lords sent soldiers to help, guiding the Free Folk to new homes in their territories. A week later, the other allied forces began pulling back, building new fortifications across the vast Northern landscape.

Before their departure, Eddard Stark sought out Stannis. After a private conversation, they sent for Owen and Jon Snow.

"We have grim news," Eddard said, looking at Owen and Jon. "Daenerys's vanguard has crossed the Narrow Sea. They've taken Dragonstone—and seized all the common folk we sent to mine dragonglass."

"So soon?" Owen asked. "Has her army gained the support of the Free Cities?"

"We don't know yet," Stannis replied. "But we do know who advises her: Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard, Varys the Spider... and Tyrion Lannister, the Imp."

"Your Grace, Lord Eddard," Owen said, after a moment, "you sent for Jon and me—there is a task for us, is there not?"

"Yes," Eddard confirmed. "We need Jon to go to Dragonstone, to negotiate with Daenerys. And we need you to go with him—to assess the strength of her three dragons. It will help us prepare."

"I have no objection," Owen said confidently. "I've been curious to see these dragons for myself."

He did not consider the three immature dragons a serious threat—especially since they would never grow to match the might of Balerion the Black Dread, the greatest dragon in Targaryen history. Dragons would not even exist without the sudden return of magic—and magic in the world was still weak. It was the Night King's rise that had stirred magic back to life, and with it, the dragons. To Owen, they were little more than overgrown lizards. With the right dragon-hunting spears, he was certain he could bring them down from the sky, just as the Night King had.

"Father, why me?" Jon asked, his voice unsteady. "I don't know Daenerys—I'd never even heard her name until now. I'm not the right man for this."

"No one is more right than you," Eddard said, his expression complex.

"Why?" Jon pressed.

Owen already knew the answer. Eddard must have told Stannis the truth—and Stannis had accepted it. The two men had likely agreed: send Jon to Dragonstone to leverage their shared Targaryen blood, delaying Daenerys's invasion of Westeros. Perhaps they even hoped to convince her to use her dragons against the White Walkers. But Owen kept this to himself.

"Do you remember what I told you when we parted on the Kingsroad, before you joined the Night's Watch?" Eddard asked.

Jon nodded. "You said you would tell me about my mother, when we met again." His voice trembled.

"I've wanted to tell you for days," Eddard said. "But there was always more to do, never the right moment. Now... there is no more time to wait."

He took a deep breath. "Jon, your mother was my sister—Lyanna Stark. And I am not your father. Your father was Rhaegar Targaryen, the Mad King's eldest son."

Eddard's voice shook as he spoke. "When I found Lyanna, she had just given birth to you. Bringing you into the world took every last bit of her strength. She gave you to me... then she died. Rhaegar had already fallen at the Trident, killed by Robert. And Robert hated House Targaryen so fiercely—I dared not reveal who you were. I could not risk your life."

As he spoke, Eddard's gaze softened, as if he saw Lyanna's face again—her last moments, etched in his memory.

Jon was stunned. He could not comprehend it—he, Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell... was a Targaryen, the last heir of a fallen dynasty.