Chapter 4 - North Again
DAENERYS
The meeting with the Queen couldn't have gone better, really. Dany knew that, yet she had a feeling of unease she was unable to shake. The problem was that it should not have gone that well. Everything she had heard about Cersei told her her not to feel fully secure in their alliance. Well, she thought, they must have convinced her, and now there were more pressing matters.
They would be meeting soon to go over strategy going forward. They had lost most of the fleet taking Casterly rock, and they must make plans to transport their armies North as quickly and as safely as possible. It seemed ridiculous that they had traveled all the way back to King's Landing just to return as far North as Winterfell and she did not like leading her forces away when the Lannisters held the Iron throne, but Dany knew she could only trust that the throne would be hers once the dead were defeated, and stick to the plan.
She reached her chambers and found a freshly drawn bath. The tub steamed in the chill air. Missandei, who had walked with her in silence from the great hall where she had parted from her other advisers, helped her out of her clothes. As she lowered herself into the hot water, Dany felt the tension melt from her neck and shoulders. The heat of the water would scald anyone else, but for her it felt like coming home.
She sighed and leaned back, dipping her long silver hair in the water so that it billowed around her head like the white clouds that hung over Blackwater Bay. Missandei stepped forward and began washing the locks, taking care to remove any tangles caused by the wind that whipped through it as she rode Drogon over the bay.
"What did you think of the Capital?" Daenerys asked.
"It is like any city. Too many people, not enough space. Every man trying so hard to be survive that he does not realize he is not living. The people of King's Landing might not be slaves, but they are also not free."
"I suppose that is true. What did you think of Queen Cersei? Do you believe she may be trusted?"
"I do not know, my Queen. I only know that what she has done in the past, and I would not turn my back to her when it might be avoided."
"Quite right," Daenerys replied, and fell silent once again.
"The Northern King certainly proved his loyalty today," said Missandei a few minutes later, breaking the soporific silence of the warm room.
"Yes, he did. Although I do not know that it was a wise move. We would have likely been better off had he maintained an image of neutrality." replied Daenerys.
"No, perhaps it was not wise. But then, men in love often behave as fools."
"I suppose that is true," Daenerys sighed, "ruling would be much easier if not so many men fell in love with me."
"Easier, maybe, but would you rather he looked at you coldly?"
Daenerys smiled, "no, I don't think I would."
They met the next day in the room with the carved map of the country. They would be travelling north as quickly as possible, bringing all her armies to Winterfell to protect the living from the dead. Sometimes, when she thought about the war in front of them and the enemy they faced, Daenerys was overwhelmed. She felt like a child once more, facing down her unfathomable future as her brother's Queen.
But she was not a child. She had experience now. She knew how to rule. She knew how to lead. She knew how to get what she wanted. For now, she would make the best decisions she could at each turn and lead her people in the direction she saw most likely to gain them a victory and keep them alive through the winter. She could not dwell too much on the future and all of its vague uncertainties. She had to stand, unafraid, and take each day as it came.
When it was suggested that she remain at Dragonstone while her armies travelled North only to meet them on dragonback later, she found herself oddly disappointed. She saw the logic in it, she would be safer. However, she did not want to appear the coward and would prefer to travel with her advisers and her armies.
Then there was the way Jon Snow looked at her when he said they should be seen as allies by the men in the North. He was imploring, and the idea of sailing together, stuck on a small boat for two weeks or longer, sent a shiver down her spine. She knew she had to make this decision logically, but when the logic and the personal line up so well, why not accept it?
"I've not come to concur the North, I've come to save the North." This she addressed to those she feared would try to dissuade her, most notably Jorah. He was loyal, but he could be too protective of her.
She then turned, and fixed a meaningful look on Jon Snow "We sail together."
She watched his reaction closely, hoping he understood everything she had meant with this short speech. They would go to war, and they would go together. They would be in close quarters. They would not be parted.
On the other side of the room, Jorah grimaced. She felt a brief pang of regret at hurting him, but could not think of anything to say that would not inform the rest of the assembled council of everything that had passed quietly between her and Jon Snow.
JON
They were to depart at dawn the next day, riding the receding tide out of the mouth of Blackwater Bay. After that, it would be at least two weeks — if they had favorable winds — until they reached White Harbor. Two weeks on a ship with little to do except wait. He allowed his mind to wander North, to a snug boat on a tossing sea.
The last time, on the trip back from Eastwatch, he had been injured and weak. He had also been afraid. Afraid of the pull he felt towards Daenerys Targaryen, so beautiful and sad and untouchable. She had been a vision when he had woken from his pained sleep, and that vision had haunted him ever since.
He was not so afraid anymore. While his heart still stuttered and his breath quickened when he thought of her, he had made up his mind. He could not allow whatever was between them to go on in unspoken words and lingering glances any longer; he would not be able to take it. Seeing her, being around her, was intoxicating. The thought of being close to her, of allowing himself to open up to her was terrifying. The only thought more terrifying was that he might never get the chance. He would go to her on the boat. He would kiss her, tell her everything he felt.
This thought made him warm despite the cold air coming off the wintry sea. His mind filled with images of cascading silver hair and expanses of cream skin. He remembered the heat of her hand in his and wondered if her lips burned as hotly.
The first day of the boat journey was slow. The wind out of the East made it harder than they had hoped to clear Blackwater Bay and the day was more than half gone before they were able to head North on a long tack in the direction of White Harbor.
The Queen and her advisers would meet each afternoon to go over the plan, again. Jon had always thought planning and strategy were important, but he also felt that these meetings were quickly becoming redundant. The plan as it stood was essentially to get themselves and the Queen's armies to Winterfell, where they could regroup with the Northern troops, find out some more information on the enemy, and devise a more specific plan going forward. Beyond that, they were only dealing in hypotheticals. What if the Night King has an objective we don't understand? How effective would dragonfire be? How long will it take for the Army of the Dead to move south of the wall? On and on, questions without answers and information they didn't have.
The meetings were saved, Jon thought, by Daenerys' eyes. The way they flashed when her authority was challenged. The way they lit up with a secret mirth when Tyrion and Davos argued some point of minute importance. The way they warmed when they were turned to Jon. He could watch her eyes all day, and never be bored.
One evening, a few days into the journey, Jon found more or less alone with the Queen after the evening meal. Grey Worm and Missandei had disappeared soon after they had finished eating, and Davos had pulled Tyrion and Ser Jorah into his cabin to look over the maps and calculate various distances and travel times.
He looked at her. The light from the lamps above her head made her hair shine like liquid gold. Her eyes were wide in the low light of the ship at night. Before he could think to do anything beyond drink in her beauty, she spoke.
"Tell me about Winterfell," she said.
He was surprised, they had discussed the cities fortifications just that afternoon, and he knew she could probably find it on a map in her sleep.
"Well, the castle in the center is protected by walls a hundred feet high, and beyond that, surrounding the city, is another set of walls. These are not quite so high but - ,"
"No, I know all that," she said, interrupting him. "What I meant was, tell me about what it was like when you were a boy. Tell me about your family, your home."
"Oh," he said, even more surprised. "Well, the castle is always warm. Even when the wind howls blistering cold and the snows fall thick on the ground, the castle chambers are as warm as a spring day. The courtyards are always busy — the Starks don't hold themselves on too much ceremony, you see — full of women doing their washing, and boys fighting with sticks. My brothers and I, we used to practice archery in the central courtyard, just next to the stables. My little sister, Arya, she would —"
He stopped. It pained him to think of Arya. His bright little sister who would rather shoot a bow than do her needlework. No one had seen her since the day their father was killed. If she yet lived, she would be almost a woman now. Not the little sister he remembered anymore. It was likely she did not live, though.
"Well, she would try to show us all up, even though she was but a slip of a thing."
"I can understand that," said Daenerys, looking at him closely.
"Is that so? Do you have a talent with a bow and arrow then, my Queen?" He asked, with humor in his voice.
"Well no, but I did have an older brother."
"Ah, yes, of course. Did he teach you to fight?"
"In a way, but let's not talk about him. My childhood was not like yours. I had almost no family and no really home. We were only ever guests."
She sounded sad, but the set of her chin was stubborn and strong. He wished he could make it better for her. Bring back her mother and her elder brother and give her the life she deserved. But he couldn't. The world had come too far. It was too dark now.
"I am sorry. It is not good to be alone."
"No, it is not. I would wish to be so anymore. I wish —"
She broke off. One of the women who worked in the Galley had entered the room they were in to clear away the supper dishes.
When they were alone once more, Daenerys turned back to him and fixed him with a look that pierced him in the heart. His breath caught.
"I find I am tired, I will retire to my cabin. I hope we might continue this conversation very soon," she said softly. Then, she rose from her seat gracefully and swept from the dining cabin.
Jon sat, staring at the spot where she had disappeared from view, and tried to gather his wits. He would not usually be considered a simpleton, but at the moment there was not much in his head aside from a soft humming noise that seemed to block out all rational thought. I hope we might continue this conversation very soon. How soon? The way she had been looking at him, he thought he understood her meaning quite well.
It was all he could do to not follow directly behind her to her cabin. He knew it would be more prudent to return to his own — and be seen returning to his own — and then go to her following the shift change.
The two hours he waited were two of the most painful of his life. He thought he might rather fight the entire Army of the Dead than wait one more minute. Eventually, the bell rang signalling the changing of the watch, and he knew the wait was almost over. Suddenly, instead of anxious impatience he felt a small knot of apprehension form in the pit of his stomach. Perhaps he had misunderstood her. Perhaps she would find offence at his appearance at her door. What if he woke her and she was displeased?
He released a breath. No. He would go. He could not go one more day without being sure.
When sufficient time had passed, Jon stepped out of his cabin, checked that the hall was empty, and moved quietly aft towards Daenerys' chamber. He paused briefly outside the ornate door. Steeling himself, he knocked. He held his breath as the door opened.
He was caught in her gaze. It simultaneously comforted and frightened him. He held her look, waiting for her to question him; he half expected her to demand why he was there and tell her what he wanted. The questions never came, instead, she stepped slightly to the side. A silent invitation.
He stepped inside, never breaking her gaze, and closed the door.