Daenerys Targaryen was sure she knew what to expect upon her arrival to Winterfell. True, she was advised by both her Hand and her own Northman that the Northerners were a fiercely loyal men, devout as much as they are to their Old Ways as they are to their own - as such, a little resentment and distrust toward was to be expected. Northerners have not forgotten the fate of Lord Rickon Stark and his heir, Lord Brandon, at the merciless hand of her mad father. The North remembers...Jon tells her as much she begins to wonder whether the words themselves hold special merit.
And, she was right for the most part (although, truth be told, she did somewhat underestimate the severity of the Northmen's grudge). A few names were thrown her way as she and Jon journeyed their way to Winterfell - names which Jon were quick to dispute.
"This 'dragon-cunt' is Daenerys Targaryen, the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms; and the Protector of the North," he had coldly proclaimed but the burning fire in his dark eyes betrayed his anger. "Show some respect."
Daenerys smiled at the memory.
But this. This was not anticipated, not least of all by her. The reaction of the Stark children was something she did not foresee.
(Of course, the young queen realised that there would be some resistance between them - some friction and tension that would fuse together to create a tolerable dislike when in the other's presence. As a dragon amongst wolves, she would stick out like a sore thumb, her snowy white locks the only visible torch in murky Winterfell. The only slightly warm reaction she had received upon her arrival had been that of Samwell Tarly, who had greeted her accordingly.
She found it hard to look herself in the mirror after that exchange.)
"I thought you had three dragons when you came to Westeros," came the icy response of the resident Lady of Winterfell. "But now I am informed that you have only two." Beside her, Jon sighed. She took comfort in the fact that he was just as uncomfortable as she was.
Why did she have the sneaking suspicion she was being interrogated by the Stark family, not for being named their sovereign, but for courting their liege?
"Sansa, Queen Daenerys hasn't got the time for-"
"I asked Queen Daenerys, not the King in the North. As far as we're all concerned, that title no longer exists. Or had you forgotten?"
Ouch. Daenerys winced.
But persevered. She was nothing if not perseverant, after all.
"Yes. I was gifted with three dragons. My children." She allowed a wistful smile to adorn her features before - "But one was taken from me. I lost him."
It was the little one who answered this time, the one whom Jon was most excited to reunite with. "Did you retrace your footsteps?"
What...?
Arya must have noticed the quizzical expression on her face for her own features adopted a sympathetic, pitiful pout as she slyly responded with: "Whenever I lost anything, Father would tell me to retrace my footsteps until I found it again. You wouldn't believe how many things I lost over the years. But my needle is the only thing that I will never part ways with."
"Your... needle?"
Arya smirked. The sight was almost enough to send shivers buzzing down the dragon queen's spine. Almost.
"Would you like me to show you?"
Daenerys was silent.
"You have such a beautiful face," Arya murmured wickedly.
Daenerys hadn't realised how close the little girl (is that the right term to address someone such as the little wolf girl?) had gotten toward her until she heard her elder sister speak her name as a warning. It was an odd sight to behold - Jon had informed her on one of their lonely nights together on her boat that the Stark sisters were as different as fire and ice; he told her that whenever Sansa ordered (although there was no mere 'ordering' of Arya Stark of Winterfell) Arya to do something, she would do the complete opposite solely for the satisfaction of seeing Sansa's spoilt face.
It was unusual, now, to think that two vastly different people had changed so much - and how they have shaped their lives and values around each other so tightly, their own personalities now holding thicker than the roots of the Weirwood tree.
(Jon had been educating her on Northern culture.)
Daenerys watched with a pang in her heart as Arya glanced toward her sister, only for Sansa to imperceptibly shake her head to the side, before stepping back from her. The Rightful Queen wondered for the first time in quite a while whether Viserys would have ever grown to respect and love her as much as that.
Somehow she doubted it.
""My children' you said," Lady Sansa said. "You called the dragons your children. Is that to mean that you will not have a successor if you are successful in taking the Iron Throne?"
If.
If.
Daenerys Targaryen never succumbed to the "if's" of the world and the Seven be damned if she started to now.
The platinum-haired queen smiled tightly. "You say "if", Lady Sansa. Please do not think lightly of me. Yes, I may only have two dragons but I also have a loyal army of Unsullied and Dothraki, both of whom crossed the Narrow Sea for me.
"And, least I forgot, do I not also have the Northern army fighting alongside me? You must forgive me, Lady Sansa, for I am not as well-versed as you are in Westerosi customs, but as your self-proclaimed King in the North, Jon Snow, pledged himself to me, does that not extend to his forces as well?"
Daenerys could see Jon beside her silently pleading with her to remain quiet but she was on a roll now and would not stop until she had made her position perfectly clear.
"As an extension of my gratitude, Lady Sansa, allow me the honour of arranging your next marriage. I have a suitor in mind."
Sansa did not smile and Daenerys knew she had gone too far.
It was Arya who defended her sister. "The last man who sold my sister's hand in marriage was executed on orders of treason and murder." The little girl spoke it so plainly it was as though she were merely commenting on the weather. "I executed him myself."
Jon gaped. "Arya."
"You weren't here, Jon, so justice had to be delivered. Someone had to do it." Sansa.
The Targaryen girl briefly wondered when the crippled Stark boy would say his piece. Jon had not mentioned that he was mute but, she reasoned, Jon had not seen him when he woke. He did not know the extent of the boy's injuries.
"My sisters meant no offence. Sansa was merely wondering whether Jon would end up being your successor upon your death and what that would mean for the running of the North."
Ah, she spoke too soon. Although it seemed as though the young Stark had more sense than his sisters combined.
Daenerys put her 'strong diplomat' game face on.
"I understand your concerns, Lady Sansa. But rest assured that no harm will come to the North while I am your sovereign." The Targaryen looked to Jon for a moment, the warm sparkle in her eye not put on for show. "I am here to save the North - not to conquer."
Bran smiled (if you could call it that). "That is good to here. My sister need not worry about the succession of the throne in the way that she thinks. You are expecting shortly. Triplets, I believe. The dragon must have three heads, after all."
Silence.
Daenerys placed her frozen hands protectively over her womb.
Jon gaped once more.
Then...
"Please forgive our brother, Your Grace", she hissed icily. "He has an overactive imagination. I agree with your decision, Your Grace, the North would benefit from an alliance between House Stark."
Daenerys ignored the elder Stark's defensive stance.
"How do you-" She cut herself off after hearing the weak tremor caught in her throat. She coughed. "How do you know this?"
"I am the three-eyed raven."
Daenerys frowned. She opened her mouth-
"You won't understand what that means"; came the unified cry from the Stark girls as well as Samwell Tarly.
Jon shared a look with her, their expressions mirroring one another intently.
"There must be some mistake, surely," Daenerys said, looking for the ruse; "the Witch said I was barren."
"Yes. But you and Jon have continued to test that theory all the same," Bran stated drily. Deadpan.
The two in question studiously avoided the other's eye.
Sansa sighed. Arya hid a grin whilst simultaneously glaring daggers into the Dragon Queen's face with her cold, grey eyes.
"Forgive our lack of manners, Your Grace," Sansa once again braved, "for you have travelled far to reach us. My sister Arya will show you to your chambers. We would have prepared a feast but we have no men to spare."
Daenerys got the sense that last part was directed to Jon.
The little wolf girl nodded her head and mock-bowed to the Targaryen queen before leading her out.
Sansa stared at her Jon intently as Daenerys' footsteps grew softer. The scrape of the chair as she stood from it echoed across the North before the Lady of Winterfell too exited the hall, leaving Bran and Jon in her wake.
And then there were two.Jon just shook his head at Bran. "That could have gone better."
Bran shrugged. "It could have gone worse."
Jon snorted.
"How in seven hells could that have gone any worse?"
"I truly have no idea, Aegon."
Hi *crawls out from under rock*. Not really sure how I feel about this one – I had a vague idea in my head about how I wanted it to go and it ended up nothing like that.
It feels weird to be writing again. I haven't done so in over a year (I am so terribly sorry for my loyal Sunspear's Lion fans – I honestly have no excuses.) I've just lost all motivation and all my ideas just went straight out the window.
But, hopefully, this will mark the beginning of a resurgence. (Or I really hope so, in any case...)
Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.