Based on events during Episode 2-3 of GoT Season 7

~ Daenerys ~

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen had still not quite recovered from the overwhelming surge of triumph she had felt on arriving at Dragonstone at last. She knew the image of her three beloved dragons soaring above the huge looming castle for the first time would stay imprinted in her mind and heart forever. Having been forced away from this place at such a young age, she could not remember the true home of House Targaryen, but she had thought longingly about it every day. The island on which she was born, the continent her family had ruled for centuries. And now, after all the trials and battles and torment she had been put through…she was finally here. She was home.

The infamous Mother of Dragons had travelled far to get back to Westeros, the place she knew she was destined to rule over, and yet it seemed she was not the only one determined enough to make the troubling journey here. Merely days after Daenerys and her entourage had arrived and settled on this gloomy rock, there came an interruption during one of many small war council meetings in the chamber of the painted table – otherwise known as the map room – inside the ancient castle. A red priestess from As'shai, by the name of Melisandre, had turned up at the castles' doorstep, with urgent business to discuss with the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

Little did Daenerys know just how much of a difference granting an audience with the Red Woman would make to her life and to the future of the Seven Kingdoms.

While a thunderstorm raged outside in the cold night air, Daenerys and her trusted companions – Tyrion Lannister, her Hand; Missandai, her advisor and handmaiden; and Grey Worm and Lord Varys, her other advisors – assembled in the audience chamber, a magnificent hall empty all but for the grand throne that stood at the far end. The renowned priestess, Melisandre, was stood waiting patiently for them in the centre of the impressive hall, wrapped up in a dark burgundy cloak. Once they had exchanged pleasantries, Daenerys naturally took the lead in addressing the purpose of the mysterious Melisandre's visit all the way to this distant island.

'The Lord of Light doesn't have many followers in Westeros, does he?' Daenerys prompted, intrigued by her visitor.

'Not yet,' Melisandre admitted, raising her elegantly-shaped eyebrows. 'But even those who don't worship the Lord can serve his cause.'

'What does your Lord expect from me?' Daenerys asked.

In answer, Melisandre began to speak in Valyrian: 'The Long Night is coming. Only the prince who was promised can bring the dawn.'

'"The prince who was promised will bring the dawn",' Daenerys repeated, for the sake of those in the assembled group who could not understand Valyrian, and she paused, somewhat unimpressed by Melisandre's statement. 'I'm afraid I'm not a prince.'

'Your Grace,' Missandei interjected softly, 'forgive me, but your translation is not quite accurate. That noun has no gender in High Valyrian, so the proper translation for that prophecy would be…"the prince or princess who was promised will bring the dawn."'

'Doesn't really roll off the tongue, does it?' Tyrion said dryly.

'No, but I like it better,' Daenerys said, smiling, and she turned back to Melisandre. 'And you believe this prophecy refers to me?'

'Prophecies are…dangerous things. I believe you have a role to play,' Melisandre replied calmly, 'as does another – the King in the North, Jon Snow.'

Daenerys' smile faltered slightly. That name was unfamiliar to her. And his supposed title of 'King' certainly did not bode well.

'Jon Snow?' Tyrion said bewilderedly, frowning. 'Ned Stark's bastard?'

His tone interested Daenerys; she turned to face him. 'You know him?' she asked Tyrion sharply, and she felt a slight twinge of annoyance, as if she already felt threatened by this stranger.

'I…travelled with him to the Wall when he joined the Night's Watch,' Tyrion replied, sounding perplexed.

'And why do you think the Lord of Light singled out this Jon Snow? Aside from the visions you've seen in the flames, that is?' Varys added hastily, raising his eyebrows sceptically at the Red Priestess.

'As Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, he allowed the Wildlings south of the Wall…to protect them from great danger. As King in the North, he has united those Wildlings with the Northern houses so together they may face their common enemy,' Melisandre explained.

Suddenly, Daenerys found her instinctive reaction about this unknown person changing altogether. 'He sounds like quite a man,' she said, although her face was set in a stony expression.

Melisandre's lips twitched, seemingly relieved. 'Summon Jon Snow,' she urged, and there seemed to be a flicker of desperation barely concealed in her voice. 'Let him stand before you and tell you things that have happened to him. The things that he has seen with his own eyes.'

Tyrion took a step towards Daenerys. 'I can't speak to prophecies or visions in the flames, but I like Jon Snow and I trusted him…and I am an excellent judge of character,' he said encouragingly, and Daenerys smiled at him. 'If he does rule the North, he would make a valuable ally. The Lannisters executed his father and conspired to murder his brother. Jon Snow has even more reason to hate Cersei than you do.'

Daenerys paused for a moment, considering his words. She was unwilling to let any competition step into her midst and threaten her position or create any obstacle in her way to claiming the Iron Throne. But then again, this Jon Snow sounded like he was an honourable man, from what little Melisandre and Tyrion had just told her. Perhaps he could be persuaded to lose his ridiculous title of 'King in the North', if he were to meet the true rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Her eyes flickered sideways to take in the earnest expression on Melisandre's face; it was this that led Daenerys to reluctantly come to a decision.

'Very well,' she said firmly to Tyrion, as the thunder continued to clatter outside. 'Send a raven north. Tell Jon Snow that his Queen invites him to come to Dragonstone...and bend the knee.'

Tyrion had been nodding in agreement until those last three words, but Daenerys could tell from the apprehensive look on his face that he disapproved of her final demand. Nevertheless, even though he was her Hand, she would have to insist on this matter – she required fealty from anyone who wanted to form an alliance with her, otherwise there was simply no point in them meeting at all. Daenerys was not one for dealing with time-wasters; she had far more important issues to deal with – claiming back her throne and saving the Seven Kingdoms from the likes of the evil, twisted Cersei Lannister being the utmost priority.

The thunder continued to be loud and monstrous throughout the night as everyone in the castle tried to sleep, but it was the thought of this mysterious Jon Snow that was keeping Daenerys awake and agitated. Who even was this man? What could possibly be so special about him for a Red Priestess to claim that Daenerys alone was not powerful enough…that Jon Snow also had a significant role to play in ending this 'Long Night' she spoke of?

Missandei's words from earlier in the audience chamber kept ringing through Daenerys' mind, as if they were playing on a loop…'The proper translation for that prophecy would be…"the prince or princess who was promised will bring the dawn."'

But prince or princess? Daenerys Targaryen or Jon Snow? Daenerys sighed heavily as she tried to drown out the sound of the ferocious storm outside with her pillow. She had no idea why the thought of his visit bothered her so…after all, she could easily challenge him if need be – she had three dragons and an army of thousands. And, most importantly, she had herself. Besides, it was more than likely that she'd have no reason to spare Jon Snow another moments' thought once Tyrion had sent off the raven; he probably wouldn't accept the invitation to meet her at Dragonstone anyway. Only a fool would do that.

~ Jon ~

A thin layer of frost was slowly but surely beginning to cover the grounds of the Winterfell courtyard as the Northern children learnt how to shoot with a bow and arrow. Jon Snow watched the training solemnly from the upper levels, while he waited for Sana Stark, his half-sister, and Ser Davos Seaworth, his principal advisor, to finish reading the message that had just arrived by raven.

'Do you think it's really Tyrion?' Sansa asked from behind Jon, and she looked up from the scroll in her hands. 'It could be someone trying to lure you into a trap.'

'Read the last bit,' Jon said heavily, still keeping his eyes on the children training down below on the yard.

'"All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes",' Sansa read aloud, and she frowned, confused. 'What does that mean?'

'It's something he said to me the first night we met,' Jon replied, and he turned to face his sister. 'You know him better than any of us. What do you think?'

Sansa paused as she looked back at the parchment in her hands, thinking deeply. 'Tyrion is not like the other Lannisters,' she admitted. 'He was always kind to me, but it's too great a risk. "The Seven Kingdoms will bleed as long as Cersei sits on the Iron Throne. Join us. Together we can end her tyranny"…'

Ser Davos gently took the parchment from Sansa and read over Tyrion's words. 'Sounds like a charmer,' he said, but then he raised his eyebrows cynically. 'Of course, the casual mention of a Dothraki horde, a legion of Unsullied and three dragons…a bit less charming.'

Davos then frowned, clearly pondering something. Jon hadn't known Ser Davos for that long, but he still knew the look on his advisor's face that meant a thought had struck.

'What?' he asked.

'Fire kills wights, you told me. What breathes fire?' Davos pointed out, and Jon sighed as he realised what Davos was getting at; he turned away, his lips twitching slightly.

Sansa was smiling sceptically. 'You're not suggesting Jon meet with her?' she asked bemusedly with a frown, somewhat aghast.

'No, too dangerous,' Davos replied at once.

'But?' Jon asked sharply.

'But if the Army of the Dead makes it past the Wall…do we have enough men to fight them?' Davos said.

Jon didn't answer; he didn't need to. He turned back to look out over the courtyard, where all his people were preparing for the long, deadly winter…and training for the inevitable battle against the Army of the Dead. Davos was right…they didn't stand a chance, no matter how much training they did. There simply weren't enough people to match the White Walkers. But maybe Daenerys Targaryen's dragons could help defeat them once and for all.

Jon brooded over their predicament for the next few days, and as the atmosphere around Winterfell grew more tense and afraid, he found himself constantly referring back to the narrow piece of parchment that he kept in his chambers. Tyrion had worded the invitation to Dragonstone very diplomatically; there were no threats, no demands, no intimidating message. It was merely asking if Jon were willing to form an alliance with Daenerys…an answer that Jon could not give, because he simply did not know.

The stories of Daenerys Targaryen were not unfamiliar to him; Jon had heard the whispers of 'the Targaryen girl' for years now, ever since he had joined the Night's Watch. He had heard how this enigma of a woman had ascended from nothing to conquer and rule over numerous cities, refusing to leave for Westeros to claim back the Iron Throne until the freedom of the former slaves was secure. She sounded like quite a woman. A force to be reckoned with, that was certain. He didn't like to admit it, especially not to Sansa or Davos, but the truth was, the thought of this Daenerys intimidated Jon. She had risen from the ashes to become something extraordinary and rule the Seven Kingdoms, so what would she want with a bastard like himself? He couldn't imagine any good coming of Tyrion's proposed meeting between the two unlikely comrades, and he told himself this view repeatedly as the days passed, trying to convince himself that he was right to ignore the invitation, that it would be safer for everyone involved, including his people at Winterfell, if he stayed and not risk everything for three dragons (who he doubted even existed).

But then, barely a week later, a raven arrived from Samwell Tarly, his most beloved friend from the Night's Watch. The message contained news that Dragonstone, the island on which Daenerys and Tyrion currently resided, sat on a mountain of Dragonglass…the only material he knew of that could kill a White Walker. And so Jon was left with no choice.

'I received this a few days ago from Dragonstone,' Jon said later that day in front of the Northern Lords and Ladies assembled in the Great Hall, and he held out Tyrion's scroll. 'It was sent to me by Tyrion Lannister.'

There was a loud murmur of disapproval from the assembled lords, but nevertheless, Jon continued.

'He is now Hand of the Queen to Daenerys Targaryen,' he said loudly, and silence fell. 'She intends to take the Iron Throne from Cersei Lannister. She has a powerful army at her back and, if this message is to be believed…three dragons.'

The lords immediately began to speak amongst themselves, appalled and concerned at the ridiculous statement. Jon swallowed, but concealed his nerves well.

'Lord Tyrion has invited me to Dragonstone to meet with Daenerys,' Jon went on, turning to face Sansa at the high table. 'And I'm going to accept.'

At this, there was a large negative outcry from the lords gathered in the hall. Sansa looked aghast, but Jon, whose eyes had lowered briefly to the floor in shame, spoke up again before he was met with further cries and shouts of protest.

'We need this Dragonglass, my Lords,' Jon said firmly, his voice ringing out loudly across the Great Hall. 'We know that Dragonglass can destroy both White Walkers and their army. We need to mine it and turn it into weapons. But more importantly, we need allies. The Night King's army grows larger by the day. We can't defeat them on our own. We don't have the numbers. Daenerys has her own army and she has dragon-fire. I need to try and persuade her to fight with us. Ser Davos and I will ride for White Harbor tomorrow, then sail for Dragonstone.'

'Have you forgotten what happened to our grandfather?' Sansa demanded, to Jon's chagrin. 'The Mad King invited him to King's Landing and roasted him alive.'

Jon looked down as the assembled lords jeered in agreement with her. 'I know that,' he mumbled, wondering if his sister was right, if he were being stupid for considering the possibility that this legendary Daenerys Targaryen could be on their side.

'She is here to reclaim the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms. The North is one of those seven kingdoms. This isn't an invitation, it's a trap!' Sansa said urgently, her face creased with worry.

'It could be,' Jon admitted heavily, 'but I don't believe Tyrion would do that. You know him – he's a good man.'

With a scrape of a chair, Yohn Royce then stood up with a grimace. 'Your Grace, with respect, I must agree with Lady Sansa,' he called out, almost apologetically. 'I remember the Mad King all too well. A Targaryen cannot be trusted. Nor can a Lannister.'

As the lords shouted in agreement, Robett Glover then also rose to his feet. 'We called your brother 'King', and then he rode south and lost his kingdom,' he pointed out.

His words were a low blow to Jon; they pierced him like a knife to the heart. He was so dismayed to see his lords and family protesting his plan, when he knew it was no good; whatever they said would make no difference. He did not want to leave on bad terms with his people, but leave he must. Sam's message was a clear sign of that. For the good of the Seven Kingdoms, he had to go to Dragonstone.

'Winter is here, Your Grace,' young Lyanna Mormont then interjected, standing to her feet as well. 'We need the King in the North in the North.'

The lords began to pound the tables aggressively in agreement, leaving Jon feeling beaten and defeated. The title he had been given didn't necessarily mean he would be popular, but it would have been nice if the people of Winterfell had faith in him and provided full support in his mission. Alas, it was not to be.

He turned sombrely to the crowd. 'You all crowned me your king. I never wanted it. I never asked for it. But I accepted it because the North is my home. It's part of me and I will never stop fighting for it, no matter the odds,' Jon said, and his expression was that of despair. 'But the odds are against us. None of you have seen the Army of the Dead, none of you. We can never hope to defeat them alone. We need allies – powerful allies. I know it's a risk. But I have to take it.'

'Then send an emissary, don't go yourself!' Sansa protested, getting to her feet.

'Daenerys is a queen. Only a king can convince her to help us,' Jon said firmly, and Sansa rolled her eyes at the respect he was giving to the supposed Targaryen enemy. 'It has to be me.'

He was met with more protests, but Jon was stubborn and his word was final on the matter. He would not dishonour Daenerys by sending any kind of representative on his behalf, even if there was uniform opposition from his loyalists. He kept having to tell himself that she and he were more or less equals, and so he had to act accordingly. It would be an insult if he didn't meet her directly himself…even if he didn't want to.

The next day, once Jon had set his affairs in order and left Sansa in charge of Winterfell, he and Ser Davos departed for White Harbor. Jon had no idea that when he'd next return to his home in the North, he would be a completely changed man.

The journey to Dragonstone took approximately a month, during which time Jon made the most of the peaceful, secluded ship cabins and ocean views, and tried not to dwell on the upcoming meeting with the feared Daenerys Targaryen. Being at sea for all that time meant that Jon was unable to do much in terms of his duties as King in the North other than simply wait until he arrived at his destination; he found it incredibly frustrating, but also somewhat of a relief. He could finally relax, just for a little while, and shut himself off from the troubles of the outside world. At least, he could try – it didn't really work. Jon always worried.

So, as a distraction, he and Ser Davos spent many days aboard the ship simply getting to know one another properly. They found out about each others' colourful pasts and fascinating backgrounds, and emerged from their deep discussions as kindred spirits. Davos also liked to speculate as to what Daenerys Targaryen would be like; if she was mad or ruthless like her father, how old she was, what she looked like, whether or not she would be true to her word, whether she would burn them alive with her dragons the moment they stepped foot on the island. Jon tried not to listen whenever their conversations took this turn. He felt intimidated and small enough as it was.

Jon felt strangely confident on the day they finally arrived at Dragonstone; perhaps he had been cooped up inside too long, and was now ready to get this over and done with. He felt full of purpose, and driven to get the Dragonglass (and, ideally, the help of three dragons as well) that they needed to win this war against the Army of the Dead. Jon and Davos, accompanied by six armed Stark soldiers, travelled by a small skiff towards Dragonstone's shore. As the men rowed on, Davos swallowed uncomfortably, staring at the grim and foreboding castle that awaited them; he had spent years living in that miserable fortress, and had hoped never to return. Jon couldn't help staring up at the castle too, and as they neared the island, he found himself wondering whether they had made a terrible mistake in coming here. His short burst of confidence had already disappeared.

They soon landed on the beach; Jon and his men dragged the boat onto shore and off the sand as waves crashed violently onto the rocks surrounding them. A large band of fearsome foreign warriors were stood there on the beach, waiting for them – Jon knew that these must be the Dothraki guards. They were a foreboding sight, but Jon's spirits were lifted slightly when he saw the small, figure of Tyrion Lannister also waiting, with a young woman stood beside him; both were dressed in smart black attire. Tyrion had more scars and facial hair than when they had last seen each other, but otherwise, he looked exactly the same. Jon had never been more grateful to see a familiar face.

'The bastard of Winterfell,' Tyrion greeted.

The Stark men glanced at Jon; had this man really just insulted their king?

'The dwarf of Casterly Rock,' Jon retorted.

Jon and Tyrion both stared at each other for a moment, then broke into a smile. They stepped forwards and shook hands.

'I believe we last saw each other on top of the Wall,' Tyrion said conversationally.

'You were pissing off the edge, if I remember right,' Jon said, and Tyrion nodded his head in agreement, chuckling to himself. 'You picked up some scars along the road.'

'It's been a long road,' Tyrion said gravely. 'But we're both still here.'

Tyrion then introduced himself to Davos, before gesturing to the young, rather attractive woman beside him.

'Missandei is the queen's most trusted advisor,' Tyrion said.

The woman, Missandei, smiled and stepped forward to address the two visitors. 'Welcome to Dragonstone. Our queen knows this is a long journey – she appreciates the effort you have made on her behalf,' she said, and Jon nodded, although he was doubtful whether Daenerys Targaryen had ever mentioned this appreciation herself. 'If you wouldn't mind handing over your weapons?'

There was an awkward pause; Jon exchanged a look with Davos, before glancing tentatively back at his soldiers. He could practically hear Sansa shouting at him now for being stupid enough to walk into a trap so easily.

Jon turned back to Missandei and forced a smile. 'Of course,' he said, and Tyrion flashed him a grateful smile for not making this difficult.

The Dothraki guards instantly moved forward to take their weapons. Jon unwillingly untied his sword and handed it over. He wondered whether he would be able to see it again. It alarmed him when he heard and saw the Dothraki then pick up his boat and begin to carry it away – evidently, Daenerys was suspicious and not taking any chances with her unknown 'guests' – but there was no time for him to protest, for Missandei was already beckoning them forward.

'Please, this way,' she said welcomingly.

They followed Missandei along the gloomy, damp sand, and as they walked Jon looked up to the vast castle, rising sharply from the rocks above. He sighed; there was no turning back now. They approached a set of massive open iron gates, which were flanked by the feet of a carved stone dragon, tremendous in scale. The rusted gates creaked in the wind as they all walked through and began the long climb up the steps leading to the castle.

As they made their way steadily up the narrow stone pathway built into the cliffs, Tyrion began speaking to Jon, enquiring as to Sansa's welfare.

'At some point I want to hear how a Night's Watch recruit became King in the North,' Tyrion was saying as they neared the castle.

'As long as you tell me how a Lannister became Hand to Daenerys Targaryen,' Jon replied.

Tyrion seemed amused. 'A long and bloody tale. To be honest, I was drunk for most of it.'

Jon looked back down the path uneasily; two Dothraki guards were following them. He wondered what they had done with his boat. Would he ever get it back? Or was he trapped here?

'My bannermen think I'm a fool for coming here,' Jon said in a low voice, almost ashamed to be admitting his doubts…but for some reason, he felt he could talk openly to Tyrion about them.

'Of course they do. If I was your Hand I would have advised against it,' Tyrion said, which was hardly reassuring for Jon. 'General rule of thumb – Stark men don't fare well when they travel south.'

'True. But I'm not a Stark,' Jon replied, his lips twitching.

Tyrion smiled. Touché.

A loud roar was then heard from overhead. Startled, Jon and Davos immediately dove to the ground as none other than a humungous dragon flew up from under the balustrade, screaming as it went. Clutching the ground, alarmed, Jon looked up and watched in disbelief as the dragon flew off towards the castle, beating its wings heavily. Jon was breathing deeply, his heart racing. He couldn't believe what had just happened…what he had just seen with his own eyes. Could that thing be real? Neither Tyrion or Missandei had bothered ducking; they both simply stood there, smirking at the two astonished men. As Jon slowly recovered from the shock, an amused Tyrion walked over and offered Jon his hand.

'I'd say you get used to them,' Tyrion said, as he helped Jon up to his feet. 'But you never really do.'

Mouth open, Jon was staring wide-eyed up at the castle, half-mesmerized, half-terrified, as two more dragons joined the first and began weaving lazy patterns in the air, circling above the castle and crying out to each other. They were extraordinary.

'Come,' Tyrion said promptly, as he walked on up the steps. 'Their mother is waiting for you.'

Astonished, Jon tore his eyes away from the impressive sight in the sky and exchanged a horrified glance with Davos. It was too late to turn back now.

Fuck, Jon thought to himself.

He marched on after Tyrion and Missandei, hoping desperately that his breathing and heart rate would calm down by the time they reached the entrance to the castle. The dragons continued to circle the castle and sing to each other for the rest of their journey up the path, although once they arrived at the castle entrance, Jon found himself inexplicably smiling to himself; he couldn't imagine any situation in which those dragons would be deterred by a few White Walkers. Terrifying though they were, these magnificent creatures could end up being the key to their survival. If Jon played his cards right with Queen Daenerys.

Once inside, Jon barely had time to look around or appreciate the splendour of the castles' gloomy, intimidating interior, for Tyrion and Missandei led him and Davos straight towards the audience chamber, where the Queen was apparently already assembled with more of her guards.

Davos glanced at Jon uneasily but could tell from his anxious expression that Jon would prefer to remain silent, particularly when he felt so uncomfortable. He had been left rather shaken after encountering that dragon; suddenly he had forgotten what little logical reasons he'd had that had convinced him to come here. As King in the North, Jon had not experienced many audiences, particularly not with anyone of this sort of status. Daenerys had been in power for years, whereas he was still figuring out how his new role in the world worked. It had all the makings of a disaster. Although hopefully not too much of a humiliating one, on his part.

Jon's fingers began to twitch agitatedly. 'Any advice?' he asked Tyrion apprehensively, as they approached the grand set of doors.

'Be yourself. Be truthful. And be prepared,' Tyrion said, a certain twinkle in his eye. 'She really is quite something.'

Grimacing over at Davos, Jon began to dust himself off anxiously; he wished he hadn't dived to the ground like a scared little boy earlier when that dragon had appeared. Then again, perhaps he shouldn't be so hard on himself. After all, it had been a fucking dragon.

The Dothraki guards then walked ahead and pushed open the heavy doors; Tyrion and Missandei followed them in to join their queen. Suddenly overwhelmed with curiosity, Jon Snow then took a deep breath and stepped forward into the audience chamber.