Authors Note:
I feel like I'm spoiling you all with a bunch of chapters all at once. Call it a productive week after two weeks being away.
Author Warning:
OC-Daenerys being stoic and cold on the outset.
OC- Jon being a geek to impress Dany.
Davos being a cheeky matchmaker.
Cersei had returned with her Kingsguard, and what Tyrion had spoken to her had clearly had its intended effect. Tyrion had stepped in to save the North from Jon's blunder, and Jon felt indescribable relief course through him as Cersei once again delivered her terms, this time more accommodating to the North's need. Cersei would, if she stayed true to her words, send her forces north to join Winterfell and the northern houses in the defence of Westeros against the undead.
Yet Jon could not help but doubt that Cersei would stay true to her word. But then she had seen the wight, and looked terrified. Her hand had went to her belly, and Jon felt for some reason that it was not to do with the grotesque sight of the undead upsetting her stomach.
Maybe she had something else other than a kingdom to lose if the war went in Daenerys's favour, or the undead's…
Putting his own suspicions aside, Jon began to pace his way down to the corridor to Daenerys's room. He took care not to step too loudly, so as to not wake anyone else slumbering nearby.
The voices, soft and low and almost harmonic in their own right, still spoke and conversed with each other in the room.
It sounded like Missandei, and of Daenerys.
They were speaking in a mixture of Valyrian, and Westerosi.
Jon would not play the spy and press his ear to the door to make out the peal of words being exchanged. He knew that his presence at this time of night would be considered intrusive and strange to them.
So he would keep his business to the point. He would announce himself, enter Daenerys's chambers, make his apology and then retire for bed.
Facing the door, with the emblem of the three headed Conqueror's dragon upon the door, Jon lifted his arm to rap on the door.
His mind thought back to the last time they had spoken, and Jon hoped he wouldn't be too enraptured in his own reflections that he would be frozen stiff in front of the door with his arm raised.
"And the Unsullied?" Daenerys asked, inquiring as to how Jon planned to transport her elite soldiers.
Jon pointed to a model of the ship that represented theirs, a carved galley with the head of a dragon on its tiny bow.
"We can sail with them to White Harbour, meet the Dothraki here on the Kingsroad…" He stated, pointing to as such. "…and then, ride together, to Winterfell."
Jon knew that there would be some objection of the Queen's part to this. For someone who preferred to travel on dragonback, riding on a horse would seem a step down.
He looked at Daenery's, whose hands were crossed behind her back. Her eyes glanced aside as she contemplated Jon's words. She appeared doubtful however, and Jon knew that she was worried of her safety being compromised.
Jorah was also of the same mind.
"Perhaps you should fly to Winterfell. You would have many enemies in the North. Thousands fell, fighting your father."
He leant down on the carved map table of Westeros, supporting himself on his gloved fists.
"All it takes is one angry man with a crossbow. He'll see your silvery hair on the Kings Road and know that one well-placed bolt will make him a hero." Jorah took in a reserved breath.
"The man who killed the conqueror." The bear with sandy thinning hair and rugged face mused.
"Or like the Myr who killed a prince…" Jon found himself saying aloud.
At the rest of the men and women glancing at him, Jon was about to clarify when Daenerys's voice spoke up.
"Prince Aemon, son of Jaehaerys the First." The dragon queen spoke, with a small measure of approval in her voice. Jon looked at Daenerys and nodded.
Some of her braids had been undone, and more of her hair had fallen from the braids on the back of her head. The two locks of hair were now longer, and trailed down to past the ridge of her busom.
Not that Jon was looking there of course.
"Aye…" He assented, before then clearing his throat to continue, feeling under scrutiny of the expectant men of the war council. Brown-haired Theon, Davos, Tyrion, stony-faced Grey Worm, Varys with his air of uneasy interest, his hands like his true intentions concealed, tucked into the chest pockets of his coat,
He spoke again.
"It's your decision, Your Grace..." Jon spoke, respectfully adding her formal term of address. "…but, if we're gonna be allies in this war…it's important for the Northerners to see us as allies."
He pointed again at the boat and then to White Harbour, their destination, which would place them to the south of Winterfell, where they would then ride north to Jon's home.
"If we sail together, I think it sends a better message."
Jon looked back up at Daenerys, and observed how the light seemed to surround her loosened hair like a moonlit crown of its own right.
Her eyes looked down upon the map…
And then glided down to Jon's hands.
Jon, feeling conscious of his hands obstructing the sight, withdrew them and hid them below the lip of the Oldstones coast.
Whatever emotions Daenerys was feeling, her mask gave little away.
But a small rise of her chest, a short intake of breath before speaking heralded the breaking of her short silence.
"So be it. I've not come to conquer the North. I'm coming to save the North." She spoke to Jorah.
The bear knight nodded solemnly, and offered no further argument.
And then her eyes with a flash of violet, almost indiscernible in the seawater green of her eyes, returned to his.
"We sail together."
Jon nodded.
Good.
She was willing enough to agree to his plan. For the sake of the North, travelling with the daughter of the Mad King was a delicate matter.
And…should anyone attempt to make good on their dreams of revenge, as Jorah spoke of, to pay for their family's blood by shedding blood of the queen, Jon would be closer at hand to protect her.
Relieved, he offered a brief small half-smile.
Daenerys did not return it. She swept her gaze across the committee assembled before her.
"Dismissed. We sail come the evening, under cover of darkness. The night will shield our ships from prying eyes."
She turned to her left and made to go. Grey Worm fell in step, and Jon heard the footsteps of Missandei as she traversed the Far North Side of the table to join in step with Grey Worm, as Daenerys began to relay her instructions.
"I will be alone with my dragons. The days have been taxing for them as of late. Ser Jorah, Turgo Nodhu, oversee the mobilisation of the forces. Prepare them for a long journey. Missandei, Tyrion, see to it that the Dothraki have enough medicine to make the journey inland to meet us on the Kingsroad up north, and enough furs as well. They will not…"
Jon did not hear the rest of her instructions, for she had left the room.
As Tyrion followed behind, his gaze wondered over to Snow's and he gave a short wink, and a ghost of a smile.
Jon nodded at him, feeling that he had missed his chance to confer his thanks to the dwarf for his role in restoring the negotiations, and giving the North a better fighting chance against the Undead.
He would have to make sure to make good on that promise.
Theon gave a bow with an air of gratitude and shame in his eyes, as had been his own mask as of late. Jon returned the nod, and Theon lowered his face and walked out of the war room.
Jon felt a measure of concern and wariness run through him. Theon would be conflicted no doubt about returning to Winterfell, but, as Jon recalled, Euron had his sister Yara hostage. Theon must have been torn between his duty to his adoptive sister Sansa, and his duty to his blood sister.
Jon believed that Theon would likely seek him out, though his own feelings regarding his turn-coat adoptive brother and ward of Ned Stark were still…undecided. He had made all efforts to atone, but the depths of his ego-fuelled betrayal of Winterfell saw the death of Maester Luwin, and of Rodrik Cassel at his and his fellow Greyjoy reaver's hands.
Jon chose to deal with those feelings for if and when Theon came to face him. He would not waste further energy wrestling with his impulses to have Theon hanged, or to grab him and shake him violently for his betrayal. His betrayal that had allowed the Boltons to take Winterfell, and turn his home into an abomination where flayed men and women hung on crosses. Where his sister had been delivered to the hands of the fiendish Ramsay Bolton. He had murdered two son's of a farmer, masquerading them as Bran and Rickon in a bid to further impress his vengeful father, Balon.
But then he had been tortured by Ramsay, and upon being reunited and urged by Sansa, Theon had remembered his bravery, and his love for the Starks and Winterfell. He had killed Ramsay's lover Myranda when she threatened to kill Sansa attempting to escape, and jumped from the parapet with her into the snow, delivering her to the safety of Lady Brienne and Podrick.
Jon knew in his heart that while what Theon did was greatly wrong, Jon knew that he could try to forgive him. As much as was in his heart to forgive him, at least.
Jon turned his thoughts aside from Theon, and turned them towards the immediate task of preparing himself for the long journey. He could start by assisting Grey Worm at least, and come afternoon, they will sail with the tide, using fair winds and hard rowing through the galley by strongmen to give them as much speed as possible.
Jon heard the shuffle of boots behind him, and turned to see Ser Davos approaching him.
"Ser Davos." He greeted. "Will you need a hand with your own supplies? I can find some men, or help myself." He hoped that Davos would not take offense at the reference to a hand, consider that his right fingers had been shortened, following penance to Stannis Baratheon in exchange for servitude, and freedom from his life as a smuggler.
"I suppose an extra pair of hands wouldn't go amiss. I hope not to take you from your duties." Replied the Onion Knight, as he was so called for his role in saving Stannis's men from starvation by smuggling food to his castle while it was under siege.
"Not at all." Jon spoke.
"But erm…I actually wanted to speak to you…about your…state of affairs as it were…with our esteemed queen."
Jon tried and failed to hide his own expression of discomfort.
"Before you dismiss me, Lord Snow," Davos spoke in his Flea-Bottom brogue, raising his left hand. "…just know that I greatly respect you, and can only respect you as a hero. So please understand that I mean no jape when I say that you are clearly still…admiring the good queen's heart…among other things."
Jon looked aside. He did not exactly want to indulge the Onion Knight on his suspicions, though, Jon supposed, he only had himself to blame if others were noticing his…stares at the Queen. If Davos noticed, they all did.
"But,that is not all I wish to discuss." Davos continued. "Everyone saw how angry she was at you in the Pit. And I couldn't help but notice myself how distant you two have been since then."
Jon looked down at his steel-grey sturdy gambeson, his boiled and reinforced leather armoured jacket.
"It was my own fault. I nearly set fire to the whole fucking thing. She had a right to be angry."
"Oh, there's no denying that. I think Tyrion almost had a mind to take a dagger into your knee for what you said, noble as it was and all. But that isn't what I wish to speak of. You two have barely looked at each other as much as you used to, and…well, while it isn't exactly, ahem, my place…"
"It isn't." Jon said, a little too forcefully. Davos was not dissuaded, however.
"Regardless…I feel that…speaking as a…formerly married man myself…there is a tenseness between you two. And…from my own experience…that discomfort could very well sabotage things even further between you two with your…well…whatever it is you want to call it-"
"A practical alliance between two rulers of their respective factions, formed for the sake of the realm and all who live in it. Nothing more." Jon asserted.
Davos nodded, and smoothed his right hand over his balding head.
"Regardless…" Davos insisted. "I think it best that you two should…take measures towards resolving this issue between the pair of you."
Jon felt more objections on his tongue, but chose to bite it. He felt something inside tell him to listen to the old seaknight.
He would not indulge that voice further or the reasoning why it compelled him so.
But he would listen.
"Whatever this is between you two…it would be best to put the past aside, and talk."
"About what?" Jon asked.
"About…well, everything. You two are more than just fellow rulers, more than just allies. Call me a blind old fool but…I feel that in cases like this, it is best to be at least on comfortable speaking terms with the man or woman you are serving under. It would be…an added bonus for your benefit if you two became friends as well, but all the same…you must get what is between you out into the open, instead of squandering this chance and letting bubble out of control at an inopportune time."
Davos turned to his right to go.
"We have a long journey ahead of us either way. We should really all get our matters in order, before throwing ourselves at the Night King and his army…"
And with a pat of his hand on Jon's armoured shoulder, Davos made his way around the chairs and walked to the doorway.
"You coming to help me load up some food?" He turned to ask.
Jon shook himself out of his contemplation of Davo's words.
"Aye…sure."
And with that, accruing some men along the way, Jon saw to it that Davo's food for the travellers were loaded onto all of the ships. He then found Tyrion and Missandei, and helped convince the recalcitrant Dothraki blood-riders with Missandei's help as translator that wearing furs was not just for fashionable choice, but a practical and essential armour to wear when riding in the North.
And then after that, Jon underwent his own preparations, and made ready for the voyage to White Harbour.
Authors Note:
The next chapter...Jon and Daenerys...talk.
Brace yourselves as the melodrama and angst gets turned up to eleven!