Greetings

She was beautiful.

Beautiful to the point of being absurd, Jon thought. The whole situation was absurd. A strange young queen of whom he knew nothing demanding he bend the knee, simply because she commanded it. A woman who had likely never seen snow thought she was Queen in the North. That would be the day. They'd only just won their home back, and Jon wasn't going to sacrifice the tenuous faith the northern lords had placed in him.

"She's not what I expected," Ser Davos remarked later when they were in their room, as though remarking on the weather. The furnishings were spartan, hardly surprising given the Queen had just moved in, but no expense had been spared with what there was. A slightly odd mix of ornate furniture of oak and sensible dark green and maroons coupled with thin, colourful silks that had so clearly come from Meereen. They didn't match the furniture that had obviously been there during Stannis' tenure at Dragonstone, although the effect wasn't entirely unpleasant. Davos knelt down in front of the hearth to stoke up the fire, "You've got your work cut out for you with her, your Grace."

"We need to get back to Winterfell. Sansa was right, we should never have come." Jon muttered, pacing the room distractedly, feeling like a caged animal. Tormund was right, he'd spent too much time with the free folk to be ordered around by another, to be held a prisoner.

"You were right when you said we need her army to defeat what's coming," Davos reminded him. He stood up and stepped in front of Jon's path, placing a placating hand on his shoulder. "The story is fantastic, you knew it wouldn't be believed at first. You knew it wouldn't happen overnight, she needs to know more about you in order to see the truth of what you speak. And we also need the dragon glass."

"She'll never listen," Jon snapped back. "All Daenerys Targaryen cares about is sitting on the Iron Throne and ruling the seven kingdoms. The North is nothing to her other than something to control. She won't be convinced of the army of the dead and we don't have time to be chasing a fruitless task."

"You don't know her, and she doesn't know you," Davos replied reasonably. "You can't know all of that based on one conversation. I respect that you don't trust her, but you have to agree, she also has no reason to trust you. You need to give her time." He gestured around their chambers and grinned wryly. "Besides, your Grace, I do think we might be stuck here for a little while. Might as well make use of the time we have, I think we have enough of it."

Jon hated to admit that Davos' words rang true. They did need the Queen. Or more accurately, they needed her army. And quite possibly her dragons. All the same, he didn't like it. He turned away from Davos, moving to the small window. The sun was beginning to set and the view from the tower looked on from high. The sky was purple, pink and blue, melding into orange around the sun as it moved into the sea. Jon had never seen colours such as these in his life. The sky wasn't like this in the north all rich hued, not even in summer.

He hated it.

Hated the warm, humid air, the crashing waves, the colourful sky, the cold, beautiful Queen. It was the first time he'd ever been away from the North, and though he'd only just arrived, Jon missed home more fiercely than he ever thought could be possible. He deeply wanted to be out of this strange country. He dared not express these desires to Ser Davos. Davos who presumably hadn't been home in years during his service of Stannis. Davos who probably felt more at home back here in Dragonstone than he ever would in Winterfell. Davos who never once complained or asked for anything for himself. Now serving the King in the North, it was doubtful Ser Davos would ever see home again. Jon counted himself lucky to have this man as his counsel and friend. He turned back to Davos and nodded ruefully, although he couldn't quite make himself smile.

"Aye, time we do have. She needs to understand what's coming and I'll do my best to convince her. I'll warn you right now though, I'm no negotiator, I'm not cut out for this."

Davos gave Jon Snow an odd look. "I think you are better than you seem to believe."

"With Wildlings perhaps. This is different, she is from a different world. We have no common ground." Jon argued.

"She is a Queen, are you not a King?"

"Yes but I'm not-" Jon paused. Not a real king he had been about to say. He didn't feel like a king, not really. Lord commander or King in the North, part of Jon would always be Ned Stark's bastard. What could he have in common with Deanarys Stormborn? He led because they had asked him to lead, not because he felt he had a right to.

If Davos had an inkling of what Jon had been about to say, he gave no indication.

"I'm older than you and seen more of the world than you." He said. "And I'll tell you right now, people are people, no matter where they are from or how rich and powerful they are. Common ground can always be found." He patted Jon's arm lightly.

Open yourself up, let the Queen get to know you, and for the Gods' sake, keep an open mind. You never know, she may do the same."