Winterfell's interior was dark and warm. Comfortable, but not terribly grand. Not like Dragonstone or the pyramids of Meereen. But Daenerys saw the beauty of it. Jon had explained why his home made the perfect strategic outpost against the Night King. There were the strong towers and walls that could hold out for years against a siege. Within the walls, there were glass gardens, producing food even in the depth of winter, and deep storehouses. There was a godswood too, sacred to Jon's faith, to sustain the spirit. The walls of the castle itself were made for the North's harsh climate. Hot springs ran through them, making the castle like the body of a vast, living being, brooding over the people of the North. No matter how bitter the cold, Winterfell would shelter them with its heart's blood, brought up from the depths of the earth.
Dany had never seen a stronghold that was so alive. It was not designed to parade the wasteful wealth of the powerful. Rather, it existed to uphold and sustain life. And it had done so, protecting its people for thousands of years.
Now that she had seen Winterfell, she understood Jon better. They were so alike. Modest in their appearance, but perfectly suited to survival in this harsh place. Prioritizing always the good that mattered over grandeur. Their beauty arose as a byproduct of the perfection of their form, fashioned with good intent for a wholesome purpose. And, within them both, were warm hearts that beat for their people.
Daenerys leaned closer to Jon as they walked, hope kindled in her heart. She didn't look forward to the coming fight, but the thought of it was easier to bear now. After each battle they would return to the warmth of this good place.
Lady Arya seemed to melt into the shadows as they walked along, disappearing between one moment and the next. She too was fashioned off a similar mold as Jon: small and dark and very capable. It was as if their bodies had conserved their strength for the long winters.
They stood in contrast to the stunning Lady Stark. If Jon was the interior, the heart, then Lady Stark was one of the proud grey towers of Winterfell, standing a tall sentinel against the night. She was elegant and regal in a way Jon would never be. Grand without being effete.
The burnished flame of her hair stood out against the grey cold around them. It perfectly offset the severe lines of her black and grey clothes, her firm composure. Daenerys felt drawn in by the picture she made. There must be passion in this cool lady of the North, with hair like that. Dany smiled to remember the careful way Lady Stark had bent just enough, but given no more, her manners perfect, her eyes watchful. A shrewd she-wolf eyeing Dany up while her siblings roughhoused, their powers damped down amongst the pack.
And then there was Brandon Stark, the missing younger brother. The one who would be Lord of Winterfell, if not for his health. Tyrion had told her, shamefaced, about his family's role in that. His elder brother had attacked a child in his own home, leaving the boy sickly and unable to walk.
It was sickening, to know how the lion of Lannister had toyed with the Starks. Cutting some down, leaving others maimed. Keeping Lady Stark alive only to dig their claws in deeper at a whim.
Daenerys could see, in the palpable sadness that surrounded Brandon Stark, the story of all the Stark dead. Their lord father and lady mother, the eldest brother who was king before Jon, and the very youngest boy. She understood what it was to stand in the world after your family had been savaged. Your world was gone, while everyone else's remained. Jon's sisters both had far more than she herself had known, though. A sister and two brothers, each of them with good hearts. Riches indeed.
Still, she did not envy them. She had heard enough from Tyrion of his former wife to form a rough sketch of her life. Held as a hostage and favorite victim of her family's enemies. Forced into marriage twice over. Lady Stark knew what it meant to be truly alone and unprotected in the world. That was a hard lesson for a girl to learn, as Dany herself knew. And it was not easily forgotten.
It certainly explained Lady Stark's wariness. Daenerys had seen the way every innocent mistake in their first meeting concerned her, making her ever more watchful. It was little matter to Dany, however. She had lived among many different peoples, had known the twisted ways of men who enslaved children. The informal manners of the North could hardly offend her.
Here, the children she had seen were busy, but sure in themselves. None of the smallfolk who had gathered to watch her arrival looked beaten down. Indeed, the ones who hovered as near as they could, to eavesdrop, were unafraid of punishment. It would be boorish, for people of power to exempt themselves from politeness while forcing everyone else to comply. But that was not the case here. Everyone seemed to partake of the same easy ways.
They were good people and they deserved a good monarch. If she could win their trust, they might be a staunch ally to her. She might rely on their forthright ways for the chance to see an honest measure of her rule in their reactions. Then she could begin to feel truly part of this place, queen in fact rather than by legacy alone.
Daenerys saw that there were three chairs at the head table when they arrived at the great hall. The arched ceilings reflected the voices of Jon's gathered nobles, filling the space with low muttering. Lady Stark guided Jon to the middle chair and Daenerys to the one at his right. It suited her well enough; Jon could introduce her and the nature of his pledge. Tyrion told her that his father had been the crown's Lord Paramount of the North, and Daenerys intended that position for him now. He would represent her to his own people, from this day forward.
She sat, so everyone else could sit too, and watched what might transpire.
It was not what she had hoped for, nor even what she expected. She'd hoped that they would come to look at her with some of the regard their leader did. Unlike in the South, where many thought her a conqueror, surely the North might follow its former king into peaceful submission to her reign. And she, in turn, might be generous with them. It had begun to pain her, how little chance there was here in Westeros to be generous. She'd expected, at bare minimum, that these lords would show proper respect for their king.
Instead, they acted like spoiled children, with no appreciation for what their leader did for them. They contested every decision Jon had made since leaving for Dragonstone. They contested even that he had left for Dragonstone at all! At one point, a man whose name she noted was Lord Manderly, outright said that Jon was responsible for the destruction of the Wall. This calamity was, according to him, all due to Jon's ill-advised trip to fetch a wight. Daenerys felt a prickle of heat at the back of her neck, her anger rising.
She had lost Viserion, her beloved child, to that misadventure. And yet she would never say such a cruel thing. Not after she saw the threat. Not knowing that Jon's every effort, including his mistakes, were guided by love for his people.
Jon handled it with good grace, outlining his rationale for each choice. He seemed to truly believe in the virtue of explaining himself to his subjects. As the conversation wore on, however, even he seemed to have too much of it. They repeated some of the same complaints several times. His answers were sound, but Daenerys didn't think they wanted sound answers.
They wanted someone to pour out their frustrations on.
Jon's own good nature seemed to make him believe the best of others. He expected them to be reasonable, to prioritize good over selfishness. Perhaps that was a sound method of ruling the North, in better times. She could imagine how he might inspire the best in his people, by his own example. At the moment, however, it was utterly futile. And painful to watch.
As it dragged on, Jon's posture became increasingly hunched. Daenerys wondered then if they treated him this way because he'd been born a bastard. Perhaps they had gotten used to him not knowing how to assert authority. Perhaps they expected him to be grateful.
She saw the simplicity she had hoped for—a loyal North, with a strong Lord Paramount to carry out her will—melting away before her and wished she had taken Jon's warnings of his lords' unruliness more seriously. Even Tyrion had not warned her of this, an oversight she resented as she sat, her face frozen in a mask of dignity, trying to decide whether it would only undercut Jon further for her to step in.
Before a pounding headache could take up residence in her skull, Lady Stark rose out of her seat. She stood tall and erect, looking down at the room. They clearly felt for her a level of fear they did not for her brother: they fell silent before her, as her gaze swept over them.
"Enough," she said, not raising her voice, but it carried throughout the room nonetheless. She clearly knew this place, every bit of it, and commanded it.
Daenerys felt the tension in her shoulders ease. She preferred to let someone who knew these men ride herd on them. If Lady Stark were not here, Dany might have had to make that her first act as their monarch. That would have left a sour taste in everyone's mouth.
"I would remind you of your oath to your king," Lady Stark said. "I would remind you that, if it weren't for my brother, you would be relying on the wisdom of Ramsay Bolton," she spat the name like a curse, "to save you." Lord Manderly stood up, opened his mouth. Sansa raised her hand, silencing him. "The Night King is an enemy beyond our ken. He is ageless, he has plotted against the living for millennia. Do you truly believe he marched for the Wall with no plan for getting through it?"
The man sat back down, shamed by that. Daenerys fought a smile. There were indeed flames in Lady Stark's heart as well as her hair. And here was the evidence of it. It was a pleasure to watch. Dany could see at least one reason that Jon loved the North so much, despite the company of his unruly lords. Lady Arya, too, seemed an impressive woman. And the Lady Mormont, so very young and yet so commanding, had also spoken sense, even as she called Jon to account.
Perhaps the virtues of the North resided largely in their women. It would not be so different from most places, in that.
"Jon alone saw the threat," Lady Stark continued. She brought her hand up to Jon's back. "He alone prepared to protect us. He brought us a queen with armies and dragons, just as the dead marched on us. And if we survive the long night it will be because of him." She looked hard over them, righteous anger in every line of her body.
This part of Lady Stark's argument was what Jon himself had been telling them. The difference was that, when he said it, he was modest. He did not aggrandize himself. Or seek to shame them with their own foolishness. He spoke plainly, clearly believing their better natures would win out.
Lady Stark turned his sensible words into the sharp slap these men needed.
As rough as she was with them, she was gentle with her brother. From her position sitting off to the side Daenerys could see that Lady Stark's thumb was moving in comforting circles against his back. His posture straightened under the touch, the lines of tension in his face easing. He seemed to grow stronger under her regard.
Was this the key to ruling the North then, balancing the plainspoken decency of the one with the sharpness of the other?
"I have known Cersei Lannister," Lady Stark continued. "I do not trust her, nor should any of you. She would watch us die, as she watched the people of King's Landing burn. I have only just met Queen Daenerys, but I trust my brother's choice. I know that he has done everything in his power to protect us. I am proud to welcome Queen Daenerys." Here she sat respectfully, her hand subtly guiding Jon to sit as well, and looked over at Daenerys.
It was a good bit of theater to cap off Lady Stark's success and Daenerys would not waste it. She stood to her full height. They would not find it easy to bow her shoulders. "Thank you, Lady Stark," she said, looking over to meet her eyes. "I am proud to stand with your house in this dark hour." She meant every word of it, and it would tie her to a lady these men respected.
Lady Stark inclined her head. "You do us a great honor, your grace."
"You king has sworn an oath to me," Daenerys said to the room and waited as a grumble went through them, refusing to either back down or try react as if it upset her. When they were quiet again, she continued: "As my Lord Paramount, Jon Snow is the commander of my armies in the North. We have, together, agreed upon a plan of battle for your protection. He will instruct you in it on the morrow, so that our attack might begin as soon as my ships arrive. Though I have brought armies and dragons to protect the people of my realm, every man," she cast a look at the young Lady Mormont, and added, "and woman must do their part, if our plan is to succeed."
There was a pause, as the lords seemed to gather themselves to respond. Lady Stark cut into it, standing once again. "Thank you, your grace. We will gather again on the morrow." She stepped back from her chair and moved to stand beside Daenerys, "I pray you forgive us for keeping you so long; you must be wary from your journey. I will show you to your rooms now."
Lady Stark's arm was extended, and there was a gleam in her eye. Daenerys took it and was reminded of Missandei, sharing a secret with this cool, sharp lady of the North. Holding hands, making the world bend before those they least expected. "Thank you, Lady Stark," she said.
Jon completed the picture, coming to offer his arm at her left. Daenerys took it, pride swelling in her chest. She stood with Winterfell's children, borne of its dark, warm heart, and its grand towers. It would not be so difficult to manage this part of her domain, if she had their support. Flanked thus by the best of the North, she left the great hall, her head held high.
XxX
"Jon," Daenerys said, squeezing his arm, "I regret I did not believe you about your lords before. They are-" aware of Lady Stark's delicate manners, she chose her words with more care than if she had been speaking to Jon alone, "most passionate."
"Were they on fire," Lady Stark observed coolly, "they would complain about the bucket you used to put it out."
Daenerys laughed, startled by her sharp tongue. "Am I the bucket, Lady Stark?" she probed and then continued, jesting to soften it. "Something very fine, I hope. Gold and jewel encrusted, perhaps." The North was in peril from ice, not fire. But the observation was apt. However, it suggested a role for Daenerys that disquieted her. She wondered what the remark revealed of the lady's deeper thinking.
"Silver, surely," Lady Stark said, sweeping her gaze over Daenerys' hair with appreciative deliberation, and then meeting her eyes, "inlaid with amethyst."
Daenerys felt a blush heat her cheeks. This was more than a compliment; Lady Stark was still sizing her up in her courtly way. It was more graceful than the blunt rudeness of the Northern lords. And more stimulating.
Dany was not unequipped for such games. "Your sister could persuade the very tides to change, I think," she said, speaking to Jon but keeping her eyes locked with Lady Stark's, "given words enough and time."
She was satisfied when it was Lady Stark who looked away first.
"Only if they must change," Jon said, warmly, "for some good purpose. She has not yet convinced me of something I came to regret." He paused a moment and then continued, with aching sincerity: "Though I have often regretted the times I did not heed your counsel, Sansa," he said, his gaze on his sister, his words for her alone. "You were right. They grew restive in my absence."
For the first time since they met, Daenerys saw Lady Stark soften. "You have nothing to regret," she said. "I was right about the lords, but wrong about the coming threat. If you'd heeded my words, you would have stayed and we would be doomed. I'm glad you didn't."
The final signs of tension eased from his face and he smiled. This smile was pure in a way Daenerys had not seen from him before, and she treasured it. "Thank you, Sansa."
There was much to marvel at in Jon. He was the way he expected his lords to be: reasonable, decent, quick to see and accept the truth when it was presented to him. He cared more about finding the right path, and walking it, than his pride. The most important thing was protecting his people. He as singular, in her experience, and precious to her for that.
His goodness could be a fault, too. He failed to comprehend the wickedness in others and compensate for it. He kept thinking he just had to explain himself better, make the truth clearer. It was a fine fault to have, as long as there were people around him with a clear eye for human nature.
When they arrived, Daenerys found the rooms comfortable, if small compared to her usual accommodations. There was warm water for her to refresh herself and a meal brought in just as they arrived, as if Lady Stark had sent some unseen cue as they made their way here. Perhaps she had. Once Lady Stark acquainted her with her accommodations, she took Jon's arm, clearly expecting to leave.
Jon hovered, for his part clearly torn. "Is there anything else you need, your grace?" he asked.
He'd had to wake her during the dark pre-dawn hours and press her to come at once, to protect his people. Now that they were safe, he turned his concern to her. In the time they had spent together, he'd become very attentive to her moods.
It touched her, but she found amusement in this scene too: for all that she was usually so composed, annoyance pinched Lady Stark's face. And who could blame her? The poor woman had been trying to have a word alone with Jon since they arrived. But she had not been speaking in terms he recognized, and so the message went awry. How different two siblings could be! Lady Stark like a finely wrought clockwork, forever whirring in her secret ways, and Jon like a bright, true sword.
In gratitude for the way Lady Stark had made Dany's meeting with the lords easier, she stepped in to ease this minor trouble. "Yes, thank you. I am glad for the chance to rest," she said, pointedly, looking between the two of them. They left then, together, Lady Stark leading the way.
Daenerys did find relief in privacy. Her head ached, from the long journey and the social jousting. She washed her hands and face with the warm water, sighing. It had not gone badly, but it had been a long day. She had received Jon's awful news while she was still in her night clothes, her mind foggy from sleep.
He'd pressed his sister's letter into her hands, naked terror in his eyes. The beautiful handwriting told a chilling tale, of the horror the Night King had made of her beloved Viserion, and of the threat that Winterfell now faced.
Daenerys had handed the letter back to him and watched him clutch it tightly. "Please," he said, "we must fly to them at once." His thumb moving over the lovely handwriting, as if it might be the last he saw of his sister. "And pray we are not too late."
If her dragons were flame made flesh, then Jon Snow seemed to her to be love of his people made flesh. He had even died for them and returned to continue leading them. Such was the power of his heart. But if they were lost, surely his mind would break.
"We leave at once," she had said, putting aside her own grief.
Throughout their hurried journey, Daenerys had shared Jon's fear that they would find his home destroyed, his people dead. She felt the tension of his body against her back, and asked his gods to be kind. Why bring him back, if only to destroy his people and him along with them? When they caught sight of Winterfell, he let out a cry of joy, pointing out the stately towers and solid walls. Daenerys knew relief then, circling lazily overhead, admiring it as she found a place to land at a respectful distance.
Jon had not been wrong to be concerned for her; her first thought, now that her fear for the North abated, was of Viserion. She would have to face him in battle, to kill the twisted thing the Night King had made him. A creature of air and dancing flame held captive in ice. Daenerys curled up on the bed and let her tears fall then. She wept and promised Viserion's soul that she would build him a grand funeral pyre. He would be laid to rest in its flames. Her dear child would never be cold again.
She slept for a time, exhaustion taking her. When she awoke, the sought the food that had been brought for her. The lamb stew had gone cold; she set it aside. There were dried fruits, apricots and cherries, and an array of cheeses. She tore a piece from the dark bread and idly sampled one. It was delicious; savory, with a hint of nuttiness that paired well with the dried cherries. She tried each in turn, fascinated by the variety.
It was a good way to store food for winter. The Northerners must have become experts in making it as enjoyable as possible to have cheese as a staple. There was a jug of water and a large mug of something fermented. When Dany sampled it, it tasted like pears, crisp and flavorful. She enjoyed herself, combining the different tastes as she reflected on the day.
Lady Stark had a deft hand with her people and she had supported Dany's claim before the lords, but it could not be so easy. It was now clearer to Daenerys how it had been between Lady Stark and her brother. She had acted more in the role of a lady wife than a sister, sharing the burdens of leadership. Dany knew that unmarried noblemen often did that, with mothers and sisters, though she had no experience with it. Viserys had never sought to share power with her, or teach her its ways, for all that he had intended to marry her.
It was another mark of his fear and weakness, to want a weak and timid wife. Jon leaned strongly in the other direction, apparently unperturbed by Lady Stark's influence. But Daenerys saw reason for concern. A young woman accustomed to sharing power with a king might find disappointment in his returning a mere Lord Paramount, even with armies and dragons.
And then there was the topic of marriage, which Daenerys had been mulling for some days. Given the state of the other great houses, if Jon could be legitimized, he might suit. The woman in her desired it, and it need not be a problem for the queen. The situation was delicate, though. She would need to speak to her advisors, and learn more of the Starks. Why had his people made him king before legitimizing him? His family loved him, clearly. It should have been done long ago. Was there some longstanding feeling against it that she would have to navigate?
Daenerys wished she could have overheard the conversation between Jon and Lady Stark. They were honest enough, even in her presence. And they had been working together for some time now, sharing leadership. Their conversation in private must be something to see. Whatever the case, the outcome would make itself clear soon enough.