Wow-I'm completely overwhelmed by the support this fic has gotten especially in the last few days! I'm so glad you all enjoy it!

I've been thinking I may make minor alterations to the previous chapters within the coming weeks-probably no narrative changes, but I might try to combine some chapters so they're all about the same length. I think it's also worth mentioning that chapters 9-11 were written before the season finale premiered-and while it will align with canon after that (with some differences, as you'll see in future chapters) there might be a few differences. For example, Davos doesn't yet know what Melisandre did to Shireen last season.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Enjoy!

In a way, Davos was almost glad Stannis had been killed in the first battle for Winterfell. If he hadn't, there was no telling what the Onion Knight would do to him when he next saw him. He had been instructed to talk to Jon Snow of the Night's Watch, to secure more preparations for their army, but by the time he arrived at Castle Black Jon Snow had already marched south. So he'd had to travel back to Winterfell with a small delegation of Black brothers-and the Red Witch. Where he'd mistrusted her before he now detested her; she kept them all awake for hours every night, praying and chanting, lighting nightfires that seemed to burn the peaceful night sky like an angry bruise. He had never believed in the power of R'hllor before, and after Stannis's resounding defeat he was more sure than ever. He had and always would pray to the Seven-not to a god who demanded sacrifices in order to ensure the sun rose every morning. After weeks of travel round trip, it was nearly unbearable.

He strode up to Winterfell's main gates, which were relatively unguarded. Apparently the castle had been reclaimed only the day before; ravens had been sent out to the Stark bannermen, who would be arriving to treat with the new Queen of the North as soon as possible. And soon after that they would be marching off to fight again, this time for Daenerys Targaryen as she sought to recapture the Red Keep.

The Great Hall was filled with people. Children ran between the wooden tables, laughing; women talked amongst themselves as they let their newborns suckle in one corner, near the blazing fireplace; and a group of men had dug out a few cyvasse boards, teaching anyone who cared to learn. It was hard for him to find a porter and explain who he was. "I must speak with Jon Snow. I am Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight; here on behalf of Stannis Baratheon."

The porter looked at him as though he'd gone mad. "Are you daft? Stannis Baratheon died weeks ago."

"The matters I have to discuss are still quite relevant, no matter whom our ruler is."

The man grimaced; every part of him seemed to droop in some fashion, from his lank black hair to his hooked nose dotted with grease stains. "I will tell him you are here, although I cannot promise a quick reception. My lord is busy treating with his sister and the Dragon Queen."

"I am in no hurry. I can wait." While the man slipped away among the crowd, Davos took the opportunity to take a glass of milky tea and a couple pieces of dried bread from one of the long platters lining the tables in the center of the room. They were mostly empty; obviously, he was late for the meal-but he didn't mind. They'd been walking since dawn, determined to reach Winterfell before midday. Eventually they had joined a crowd all heading towards the castle, wishing to pay their respects to their new ruler and partake of the free food and shelter available inside. Melisandre had soon found a group of men she could convert to the Lord of the Light and spent nearly their entire walk in the cold explaining how the Lord of Light was the one true god-He had been created before the Seven even came into being, and anyone who thought otherwise was a blasphemer and eternally damned. She had attracted quite a few stares-not all of them welcoming.

For nearly an hour and a half he roamed Winterfell's dusty corridors or waited in the courtyard outside. Builders were hard at work, carrying pieces of lumber and buckets of water back and forth to repair the damage the castle had sustained during the battle. Although much of the inner keep had been spared the worst of the dragonfire, the damage was still considerable and the walls were lined with streaks of ash. He wished Shireen were here with him; she would be able to tell him about all the details of the castle and who each house sigil stood for. However, he'd been informed that Stannis had taken his family down to the battlefront with him and Queen Selyse and Princess Shireen had not been seen again-rumors said that they had been killed by the Bolton forces that had descended upon the already broken army so quickly and suddenly. He hoped her death had been quick and painless. He missed her terribly; in the absence of his own son, he had grown to love her as much as he had loved his own.

Finally, the porter found him again to say "Jon Snow will see you now, Ser Davos." Together they walked up two narrow flights of stairs to what had once been Ned Stark's solar. Of course, Ned Stark was no longer there-but Jon was, sitting in a chair by the fire with his curly black hair just brushing his shoulders and his hands folded neatly in his lap. He inclined his head in a nod of acknowledgment as Davos took the seat across from him. "Ser Davos. A pleasure to see you again. How may I assist you?"

"I've been wondering if you are in need of another head in these troubled times. I was Hand of the King for King Stannis for four years and, although I cannot say that I am quite skilled at diplomacy and debate, I will do what I can to aid you and your sister." He hadn't known the former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch for very long, but he found Jon to be a good man with a noble heart-and there were far too few of them left in the world as it was.

Jon thought about it for a second and then nodded. "You have given me no reason to doubt your loyalty and you served Stannis faithfully until his death. We would be happy to have you-although you would primarily be assisting my sister. I don't believe I will be staying here for very long-Daenerys Targaryen is eager to march south as soon as the rest of our bannermen have sworn allegiance."

"I will help Lady Sansa as well as I can, my lord."

He nodded, seemingly in satisfaction. "Very well then. I will have you meet her-I believe her small council has just called a recess." He turned to leave but Davos cleared his throat, making sure he had his attention.

"The red priestess came here also." Davos added. "I lost track of her in the crowd, but she was on her way."

"I'll talk to her." Jon said, seeming to file the task away in his head. The Northern people kept a strict adherence to the old gods; Melisandre's nightfires and inherent zealotry would not be welcomed by the majority of the populace.

With that they left the room and crossed the hallway, to another room dominated by a large wooden table and several chairs. A tall young woman with long auburn hair wearing a fur lined cloak and a grey dress embroidered with the sigil of her house sat at the head of the table, looking diligently through a pile of papers. She looked up when Jon opened the door and a smile spread across her face-a smile that dimmed slightly as she took in Davos and his lacklustre appearance from days spent traveling and nights spent in very shady inns and taverns. "Hello, Jon. Who's this?"

"Sansa, this is Ser Davos of House Seaworth. He was formerly Hand of the King to Stannis Baratheon and I met him when Stannis came to Castle Black to plan his first attack on Winterfell. He's intelligent and loyal, now finding himself unemployed. I offered him a spot on your small council-that is, if you will have him. He's good at talking to people, though he hasn't been in the North very long. Davos, this is my half sister Sansa Stark."

Sansa gave him a small nod as he bowed (just as Shireen had taught him he should when he was in the presence of a noble's company) and said "A pleasure to meet you, my lady."

"And you as well, Ser Davos." She carried herself with the bearing of the nobility; truly, she was meant to be a ruler. "Jon, have ravens arrived from any of the other houses?" They'd been sent out the day before and the responses were beginning to come back.

"Yes-Ser Marlon Manderly, Galbart and Robett Glover, and a handful of Liddles, Flints, and Norreys from the mountain tribes. The Karstarks have not replied yet, but as they sided with the Boltons to orchestrate the Red Wedding I believe we can expect no help from them."

"Good. I wouldn't want them here anyway. And Lyanna Mormont has already arrived."

"Yes. She has already sworn her allegiance to you as Lady of Winterfell. As to swearing her allegiance to Queen Daenerys, she is still uncertain." Davos caught the look of worry in the young man's grey eyes; obviously he expected Lyanna wouldn't be the only one who was uncertain about fighting yet another war in the name of a southron queen they barely knew.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Sansa replied. "I don't know how the Lannisters and Tyrells hope to counter dragon fire. There's that at least. But so few bannermen…"

"The Red Wedding killed nearly everyone-and those who weren't are prisoners at the Twins. The families are doing the best they can, Sansa. We'll find a way to muster an army for the Queen."

She sighed. "I hope so. I wouldn't exactly want to be on the wrong side of her dragons."

"Where is the Queen?" Davos spoke up curiously. He'd heard the stories about the woman across the Narrow Sea who had hatched dragons and was slowly making her way across the continent to reclaim her birthright-but he hadn't really believed them.

"I don't know." Jon replied. "Pyp, Grenn, Martyn, Bernarr, Tim, and Rory are her honor guard. They'll see that nothing goes wrong."

Almost as if in answer to his words, a man dressed in the black of the Night's Watch rushed into the room. The door banged against the wall but he didn't even seem to notice. "Lord Snow, you might want to come and see this."

Jon turned towards him abruptly. "What is it, Grenn? Shouldn't you be with the Queen?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you-she's in the Great Hall."

"The Great Hall?" It was probably still filled with people. "What's she doing there?"

"I have no idea, but she said she wanted to go there and we really didn't see what was wrong with it but now-just come and see."

Jon glanced at Sansa as if to say Will you be all right? and she quickly replied with "Go see what's happening, Jon. I'll stay with Davos and we'll make sure we have enough silverware for the feast tomorrow night." He nodded and followed Grenn out of the room, banging the door shut behind them.

Davos watched her stand there for a minute, watching the place where her brother had disappeared just moments before. He could only see her profile, but he could plainly see the worry in her eyes. "My lady? Are you well?"

She looked back at him as though surprised to see he was still in the room, sweeping an errant strand of hair behind her ear as she picked up the next sheet of paper. "Yes, I'm fine. I just need to write a quick letter and then we can return to the matter of the silverware."

~FAS~

"Please tell me she's not hurt." Taking the servants' stairs behind the kitchen at a nearly breakneck pace, Jon still had no idea what was happening. Scenario after scenario went through his head-a riot, poison, a loose dragon...they got worse and worse the closer they got to the Great Hall.

"No, it's nothing like that." Grenn replied as they rounded the first floor landing and practically burst through the kitchen doors, causing a young serving girl to scream and nearly drop the tureen of vegetable soup she was carrying. Jon didn't stop to apologize; he just kept running, feeling like his feet were flying as they pounded towards the Great Hall and flung open the doors.

They entered the room from a side door and so they had a minute to take in the scene before anyone else noticed them. Daenerys was sitting on the floor with a large group of other Northerners- mostly women and children, but a few men sat among them as well. A couple of little girls were trying to play with her hair, which she'd taken out of its usual imposing blonde braid so it flowed loose and free around her shoulders, and she wasn't telling them to stop. Rather, she was talking to the crowd-as they drew closer, Jon realized that she was talking about the Free Cities. He was willing to bet that no one in the Great Hall had ever been out of the North in their entire lives-much less gone all the way to Essos-and they hung on her every word. The rest of her honor guard stood at the back, looking confused and uncertain about how to proceed.

The crowd actually seemed to...like her. No one was pulling out a hidden dagger or a bow and arrow or any of the other five thousand horrible things he'd imagined during his frantic flight down the stairs-in fact, there were no dissenters at all, as far as he could see. A small knot of people had formed in the doorway; Dany's group of listeners had begun to take up the majority of the room. He could see soup and bread abandoned and cyvasse boards pushed back; a strange and expectant hush hung in the air, every eye fixed on the girl with the white blonde hair.

"What do we do?" Grenn asked. His eyes were wide and almost frightened; they'd been specifically told not to let anyone get too close to the Queen and were obviously unsure how to handle the situation. Really, so was Jon.

"Do we really need to do anything?" Jon replied quietly, imagining what it would be like if they tried to send everyone out and caused a scene-and how upset Daenerys would be. Although he'd only known her for a handful of days, she struck him as the kind of woman who resented being told what to do. "If we just stay here and watch the crowd...make sure no one gets rowdy or violent...no one looks upset right now, Grenn."

So they did. They established a perimeter and stayed there, watching silently, while Daenerys talked for at least the next hour and a half. In spite of the fact that Jon was meant to stay on task, scanning the crowd for potential threats, he couldn't help but be carried away by her voice-telling the people story after story about the free cities: watching the water dancers in Braavos, seeing the famed mazes of Lorath, and even waiting outside the pleasure houses in Lys for her brother to spend his coin. They were places that seemed half a world away-but even so, Jon could imagine they were just outside the door by the way her voice transformed into a living thing: a snake, twisting simple words into something far greater than that. The crowd was transfixed-in fact, Jon almost felt bad when he realized how late it had grown. Sansa would be expecting them for the evening meal with the rest of her closest advisors.

The people muttered in dissent when she had to leave; the children who had been so intent on braiding her hair earlier now cried bitterly as their mothers pulled them back behind their skirts. As the dragon queen rose to follow him upstairs, she stopped here and there to talk to people and accept their praises and blessings. And it wasn't just that; something in Dany's eyes had softened in a way he'd never seen them soften before. No longer did she look like the cold as ice dragon queen personage she always used to present herself; she looked happy, eyes sparkling with genuine interest as she thanked them all. By the time Jon finally managed to grab her wrist and lead her into the nearest hallway and up a small spiral staircase, he was sure she'd managed to win over most of the room.

He pulled her into the first empty room they came across-some kind of bedroom for visiting noblemen, decked in heavy animal furs with carved wooden wolf statues keeping watch from atop the vanity. "What was that about?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and not betray any of the fear he'd felt, just for those few moments on the stairwell.

Her eyes, when she looked up at him, seemed almost confused. "What are you talking about? I wanted to talk to the people. If the North is going to be my ally I think it would be best if we could find some common ground-"

"Why wouldn't you allow your Guard to check them first? Someone could have been armed!"

"But no one was-"

"That isn't the point. Something could have happened to you. What was I supposed to think when Grenn came bursting into Sansa's solar completely out of breath and babbling about how I had to come with him right away because something had happened and you were involved? I thought you'd gotten stabbed." He willed himself to stop talking, but his brain had other ideas. "Do you have any idea of what could happen to us-to our kingdom-if you wound up dead? We would have thousands of Dothraki, Unsullied, and sellswords on our doorstep facing a fight that we could never hope to win. It would end us."

He knew immediately this had been the wrong thing to say. Whatever warmth had once been in her eyes was gone now; the tough mask had come down again. "Would it help if I wrote a letter telling them neither you nor your sister violated the guest right? I suppose that would make things easier-they wouldn't have a reason to attack you and you could stay here in your little castle, alone and at the top of the world while the rest of your world crumbles around you."

She turned to leave and, out of instinct, he took her wrist and gently turned her back around. He'd only meant to reprimand her, not to make her angry. He didn't know exactly what had gone wrong, but he preferred to figure it out now before it was too late.

She was shaking with rage; he could feel her pulse throbbing under his thumb. "What's wrong?" he asked dumbly, feeling there was something he wasn't understanding and hating that he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Nothing." she replied coldly. "Nothing is wrong. Now, if you'll excuse me I have a meeting to attend to." She tried to pull away but he still had her wrist, gripping it tightly without even realizing he was still doing so. His mind was miles away, trying to decide whether he was angry with her for immediately shutting him out again or angry with himself for making her do so. "Jon, let go." He let go of her wrist as though he'd been burnt and she strode off down the hallway, comfortable enough with the layout of the palace enough by now to find her way back to Sansa's solar.

"Wait!" he said before he could stop himself. She stopped at the foot of the next staircase, turning to look at him with that impassive look still on her face. "Yes, if something happened to you it would be devastating for my kingdom...but I wouldn't enjoy it either. When you came to Castle Black...I felt it was my job to help you settle in and ensure your safety-and I suppose I still feel that same way, for as long as you remain in the North. If you got hurt, I would feel as though I had personally failed both you and myself-and you deserve better than that. I'm sorry."

She didn't move for a few long seconds; just stared at the cracked wood between her feet as though it was the most interesting piece of ornamentation in the world. Finally she glanced up at him again and said "I appreciate the thoughtfulness, but I can take care of myself. Jon." she added almost as an afterthought. "And...I apologize for making you worry. I didn't think about it really...I suppose I'm just so used to going out among my subjects back in Slaver's Bay. But the North is not Slaver's Bay-and I really do appreciate everything you have done to make me feel welcome here." She nodded once and headed upstairs; this time he didn't call her back.

Jon sank onto the quilt, carefully embroidered with pale green leaves, that covered the vacant bed. He could already feel a headache coming on-and it worsened whenever he thought of the Targaryen queen. Every time he thought she was just like one of the other claimants for the Iron Throne with no further ambitions beside cementing her right to rule and her family name, she always found a way to surprise him-whether it was standing with her on the Wall at night, watching wights move in the shadows of the Haunted Forest; or the way she had touched his hand last night in the crypts as though they were no longer Starks or Targaryens but simply two people mourning the losses of their families in ways neither one truly understood. Or today in the Great Hall, how her eyes had taken on that gentle hue when she made her way among the Northerners. And all it took was a step wrong-a misspoken comment here, a dropped glance there, and suddenly she was back to being a queen. It was exhausting. She was exhausting. But somehow, he couldn't force himself to give up-not when he'd seen the girl beneath the queen and the truth beneath the legend. True, he hadn't seen much; just a tiny bit here and there, in the in between moments when there was no one else around to judge him for it. But he'd seen enough to realize that she didn't allow her facade to slip around just anyone-and that thought made the blood in his veins run a little hotter.

Gods. He had to stop thinking about her; Sansa wasn't going to start the meeting without him and she would be very upset if he was late. He got to his feet and ran a hand through his hair, trying to think about the million other things in his head he should be thinking about instead: primarily the White Walkers, Sansa, and how he would be able to convince the Northern lords to support Daenerys's claim for the Iron Throne and build her another army. Emotions weren't part of the equation and therefore they could wait-especially when even he wasn't exactly sure what they meant.

All he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was that they were dangerous and he should abandon them entirely. Unfortunately, he also knew that was the one thing he couldn't seem to do.

~FAS~

The Northern lords began arriving the next day in a flurry of coaches and banners. Daenerys surveyed them carefully from her bedroom window, watching each delegation walk through Winterfell's main gates. The palace had been closed to the populace; they would need plenty of space in the Great Hall for the Stark bannermen alone-but a few people still hovered around the edges of the palace courtyard, perhaps hoping for more handouts. She just hoped the proceedings wouldn't take too long; she didn't want her forces camped on Dragonstone for too long, until they lost the element of surprise.

She felt a little shiver run down her back at the thought. Dragonstone, the fortress where she had been born all those years ago. The first real home she ever had. If she closed her eyes she thought she could remember it-black stone walls carved into dragons that leered down at her, a deep craggy mountain that dropped off into a roiling sea. Though she knew that was ridiculous; she would have been too young to remember anything that soon after birth. Most likely her young mind had drawn from all the stories Viserys told her and mixed them all together to create her own fantasy.

The Mormonts arrived first-the only house that had been willing to fight alongside the Starks to reclaim Winterfell before she'd lent them her dragons. Sansa had told her last night, when she had been briefed about the Northern lords and their houses, that were currently run by a ten year old girl-Lyanna. It seemed to be a common name in this part of Westeros. She was related to Jorah-the same Jorah whom she had pushed away time and time again, yet kept coming back to her as often as he left. Until he'd contracted greyscale, that is. She glanced at them out the window; a little girl with dark hair and a solemn face, with eyes that seemed to be pulled perpetually downwards that spoke of years of sadness, and a small entourage of men on horses that surrounded her carefully. There was one woman also, whom she expected was a septa. The man at the head of the column carried a flag with the family's crest: a black bear on a green background.

She watched carefully as Lyanna was helped down off her horse and shared a few words with Jon and Sansa in low tones. She took a careful note of the way her dark eyes flitted across the courtyard as if looking for someone-probably the Dragon Queen herself. Dany had originally wanted to greet the lords and ladies as they arrived but Jon had insisted that she would meet them at the banquet the Starks were hosting later that night-she was to be the guest of honor, after all-and she hadn't argued. In fact, she hadn't spoken to Jon at all since the previous night and she'd been finding ways to avoid him wherever she could. That wasn't too hard; he was nearly always busy with something and if she kept herself on the move she found she almost never ran into him.

Behind them rode Galbart and Robett Glover, distinguishable by their house sigil of a grey fist on a background that was red as blood. Both men had dark coloring and almost sullen expressions as they came to a stop at Winterfell's front gates along with a host of flag carriers and advisors. They exchanged what looked like a few tense words with Jon before they were shown inside and their horses were led to the stables to be reshod. She didn't miss the way they looked around carefully, as if expecting a dragon to jump out at them from behind the castle battlements. With them they brought a large delegation of men, though they certainly didn't look happy about it.

The Manderlys arrived much later, probably because they had so much farther to go than the other bannermen. By the time they arrived, the sun was beginning to set and the wind was starting to pick up-sending snow and ice whirling around the castle courtyard. Daenerys just had time to catch a glimpse of them when they arrived bearing a merman on a background of turquoise and a force of nearly 1,500 men before she had to begin preparing for the welcome feast that would round out the night's festivities.

Sansa donated her own vanity for the queen's use and Daenerys spent the next couple of hours being fussed over by a team of servants-she was drawn a warm bath (which she stayed in until the water had long since grown cold), her hair was brushed until it shone and then pulled back into her usual braid down her back, and she even allowed them to rub sweet smelling oils into her skin before she wore the dress the palace seamstress had sewn for her the night before. It was unlike any other dress she had even worn before; while she was used to the light, airy clothing reminiscent of life in the heat of Slaver's Bay and Vaes Dothrak, the dress she wore now was made of a material that was thick but soft-probably designed to keep out the Northern winters. It ended just above her ankles, made of simple black material with red detailing that snaked from the hem to the bodice, making the dress give the illusion of shimmering whenever she moved. The red three headed dragon that adorned her own house sigil had been carefully embroidered on her chest. It didn't take her long to decide that she loved it.

"You look lovely, my Queen." one of the servants said appreciatively as they stepped back to admire their handiwork.

"Thank you." Daenerys replied simply, unable for a moment to tear her eyes away from her own reflection. She looked so different now; more Northern-though her Targaryen coloring still gave away her true identity. "You have all done a wonderful job." With that, she went to meet Sansa and Jon where they would make their entrance once the rest of their honored guests had been seated.

She felt entirely too pleased when Jon's jaw dropped as soon as he saw her. "Lady Stark, you will have to thank your seamstresses for me. They are extremely talented." she continued, relishing the fact that she wasn't cold for the first time in almost a week.

"It's my pleasure, your Highness." Sansa looked queenly as well, with her long auburn hair twisted into a braid down her shoulder and a direwolf pin attached to the front of her fur cape. "I am glad it was to your liking. Shall we begin? I believe everyone is hungry from their long trip and the kitchen staff has been hard at work all day."

Jon snuck another glance at her as he went to take his cousin's arm so he could lead her downstairs. "You look beautiful, your grace."

"You don't look that scruffy yourself, Lord Snow." she replied simply. He was wearing a new doublet, black as midnight with a silver direwolf emblazoned just below his hemline. The contrast was quite striking; it gave the embroidery the effect of snarling out at whomever happened to be closest. All in all it was simple attire but Jon wore it with an easy grace.

Just then the steward announced Lady Stark and Sansa set off with Jon by her side. Daenerys waited patiently for her turn through the door, while her security detail shifted restlessly. It was obvious they weren't used to large feasts and were no doubt unsure of what to expect. But when she was announced they performed beautifully under the pressure-two flanking her, two in the back, and two already waiting behind the dais for the high nobility as she walked through the wooden door and into the light of the Great Hall.

It had been completely transformed in just a few short hours: the long room was now filled with row upon row of wooden tables, each one filled with men dressed in the colors of their respective houses. The air hung low with candle smoke and a strong scent of wax permeated the festive atmosphere as she walked down the long aisle that led to the high dais, already crowded with the Starks and their bannermen. She took her place in the center of the table, between Jon and Sansa, taking careful note of how every pair of eyes in the room seemed to track her every movement.

As soon as she was seated servers seemed to flow out of the walls themselves, carrying cups of fine wines and bowls of a hearty bean soup. Dany hadn't been sure what to expect considering the past couple of days had to have depleted many of the castle's stores, but the soup was delicious-and much thicker than what had been served at the noonday meal. Apparently they had been storing up for just such an occasion. She drank as little wine as she could while still being polite; she wanted to keep a clear head for the proceedings.

Although the rest of the room was filled with excited chatter-she was willing to bet that none of the soldiers in the crowd had ever been to a royal banquet before-the high dais remained sullenly silent. The lords and ladies ate in silence, every so often glancing towards her as if expecting her to call her dragons down upon them. There was some polite conversation here and there as the meal wore on, mostly complaints about the inclement weather for traveling and the heavy snows that had buried much of the Northern roads but no one talked to her. She'd seen it before; they were still unsure about her and were regarding her from a distance until they'd formed a first impression. The courses flowed back and forth-roast duck covered in lemon sauce, chicken fresh off the bone, mashed potatoes saturated with garlic butter, and chocolate pudding covered in berries. It was a light feast by most standards but nothing felt opulent-like the feast she heard they had thrown in King's Landing for Joffrey's wedding day that had over one hundred courses.

"The chicken is my favorite." Jon muttered, cutting another bit of meat off the bone in front of him.

"It's very good." she replied. "Though it's not what I expected."

"Haven't you ever had chicken before?"

"Yes, but never prepared this way. It's not exactly the most common food source in Essos." She'd tried duck a few times, but the chicken was entirely new.

"I don't think I really want to live in Essos then." he said with a grin, while she kept her eyes trained on her plate and tried to suppress a smile.

"It's not all bad. Their lamb is delectable." She looked out at the crowd, filling the hall with their excited voices, and wondered briefly just how many of them were actually excited to fight in another conqueror's war. "You must be used to sitting here then."

"Not really. Whenever Father hosted dinners of state, I always sat somewhere out there." He gestured to the crowded wooden tables. "Bastards weren't exactly allowed to mix with the royalty. I think they believe our blood is tainted."

"That's awful." She couldn't imagine parentage determining a child's place at table-though that was perhaps because bastards didn't matter nearly as much in Meereen as they seemed to in Westeros.

"It's politics, my lady. That's the way things have worked in Westeros ever since the conquest-and probably even before that. You get used to it after a while."

She picked at a bit of duck, coaxing it onto the edge of her fork. "Is that why you joined the Night's Watch?"

"Yes-there aren't many ways for bastards to advance without it." His tone was light and friendly, but she could sense something else in his voice-something that made her sense he hadn't quite made peace with the hand life had dealt him. "Though now I suppose I have been released from my vows. I have a feeling Ser Alliser wouldn't mind if I never came back."

Just then Sansa stood and pushed back her chair, heading upstairs to the meeting room-where they would actually begin to discuss alliances. Daenerys followed after her, with the rest of the heads of houses following in no particular order. It took a while to get everyone settled and wine glasses refilled; by the time the meeting finally commenced it had grown quite late.

"Lords and ladies," Sansa began, "I appreciate the time it has taken you to get here-especially on such short notice-to swear your fealty and allegiance once again to House Stark of Winterfell. But as you all know, our meeting today has a double meaning. Queen Daenerys Targaryen, claimant of the Iron Throne, volunteered her time and her dragons to help us reclaim our castle-and now, in accordance with our agreement, when she returns to Dragonstone she will do so with an army of Northerners to help her reclaim the throne that is rightfully hers. How many soldiers can you each promise?"

"My men are tired from fighting two wars nearly back to back." Lyanna Mormont cut in. "They need a respite to heal-and I will not waste my men's lives needlessly."

"My men are also exhausted." Galbart Glover added. "We are few enough as it is after what happened at the Red Wedding and though House Glover will always be willing to back House Stark," Here he inclined his head to Sansa. "I believe our forces would suffer greatly if a sack of King's Landing was to occur." He glanced at Daenerys distrustfully as if to say And I certainly wouldn't let them die for her.

Next was Ser Marlon Manderly, speaking on behalf of his brother Wyman who couldn't make the journey from White Harbor. "When House Stark raised their banners, House Manderly did not the call, though we have been allies in wartime and in peace for a thousand years." He glanced at Daenerys for a second, once again placed at the table's center. "I ask your forgiveness and I pledge our services to you, Lady Sansa, and as many able bodied men as I can spare to Queen Daenerys."

The Norreys, Flints, and Liddels muttered among themselves quietly for a few moments before a Flint spoke up and said "We declare for the Starks and will send as many men as we can scrounge up to fight in King's Landing." This at least had been expected; apparently the mountain tribes would pledge themselves to almost anyone as long as it meant they could fight on a battlefield and bestow brutal deaths upon their adversaries.

"The Starks will of course give you all the fighting men we can find from Torrhen's Square and the surrounding smaller houses, your Highness." Jon replied. "We look forward to restoring you to your throne."

"Wait." Lyanna Mormont said, drawing every eye in the room back to her. "Why are we declaring for someone we barely know? Robb Stark shared Northern blood-but there hasn't been a Northman on the Targaryen family tree in generations, perhaps even since its inception. She has no ties to us, blood or otherwise-and I will not sacrifice my men's lives to fight in another lord's game, even if that means House Mormont breaks faith with House Stark." The temperature in the room seemed to drop of its own accord; the air felt rife with tension.

Sansa looked like she was about to add something, but Daenerys spoke first. If Lyanna Mormont didn't trust her, keeping silent now would not help her initial misgivings. "Speak truly, Lady Mormont: do you harbor any love for the Lannisters or Boltons?"

"No." she replied promptly. "But I will not fight to replace one tyrant with another."

"You lost someone at the Red Wedding, didn't you? Dacey Mormont...was she kin of yours?"

"Yes. My elder sister."

"Were the two of you close?"

The little girl shrugged; despite her young age, she handled politics more easily than nearly anyone Dany had ever met. "We would play games together in the evenings. She taught me about the Dance of the Dragons-and all the other injuries done to the Seven Kingdoms by your ancestors."

"I am sorry that you lost her. The Lannisters killed my family too, though I was too small to remember them. And just like you allowed your troops to assist in the battle to exact vengeance for your sister against the Boltons, so I would go to King's Landing and do the same against the Lannisters. I cannot promise that your men will remain out of harm's way, but I swear to you I am not like the Baratheons. I have seen poverty-I have lived in it, for nearly all of my life. I was not born to gold and riches or raised inside a castle wall-perhaps I may have turned out very differently if I had been. I cannot say my blood doesn't run hot whenever I think about the Usurper, sitting on the throne that is rightfully meant to be mine, but as your queen I would not forget where I came from-nor how many people still live that way now. That is the difference between me and the Lannisters or Boltons, Lady Mormont. They truly are playing intricate games; creating pawns out of kingdoms and manipulating the playing field to their advantage. But that is not my way-nor yours, I believe. When I take back the Seven Kingdoms, my rule will be different than theirs. This I swear. And, should you claim for me and then live to regret it, I will not hold it against you. Your house will not be punished and your lands will not be seized by the crown. I don't believe in games-only justice. This is all I can give you-the final choice is of course your own. But declaring for me, helping me to topple the Lannisters' throne, will give you the vengeance you crave-just as it will give me mine. I will make things right."

The room was dead silent, every pair of eyes looking from her to Lyanna and back again. Daenerys couldn't help the way her heart seemed to beat inside her throat, waiting for the girl's answer. Finally, Lyanna looked up at her again with an inscrutable expression. "I can promise you forty five men. We may be a small house, but we are proud. I can't tell if you are different than your relatives, if you truly are who you say you are-but you are right: if attacking King's Landing will preserve my sister's memory and exact vengeance on her killers, and the killing of Robb Stark and his other bannermen as well, I will do so. And when you are on the throne you covet so dearly, miles above the rest of us...then we will see what kind of a queen you really are." She didn't sound threatening, more as if she was just stating a fact: rulers lied and manipulated. Daenerys had realized that for herself, time and time again.

House Glover was the last house that had not declared-but he did so soon after, promising fighting men in memory of King Robb. The meeting disbanded soon after; the night was late, the wineskins were dry, and there would be plenty of preparations to make when morning came. The room emptied quickly but Dany, Davos, and the Starks stayed awake tabulating numbers and finalizing lists of food, bandages, and weapons. All in all, the Targaryen army had gained almost fifteen thousand troops-a small number compared to some of the greater houses to be sure, but big enough considering all that had happened in the North in recent days; Dany couldn't help smiling as she wondered what Tyrion would think about that. He would probably agree that the more men they had the better; that is, once he finished telling her how terrible it had been having to command the initial crossing all by himself.

"When would you like to leave, your Highness?" Sansa asked, looking up at her curiously from amid sheets and sheets of data. The tip of her braid passed over an inkwell in one corner of the table, staining it black.

"The day after tomorrow, if possible." she replied. By the time they marched to Dragonstone, Tyrion would no doubt have made the initial landing and-if all went well-taken over the castle. "Is that manageable?"

"Yes, of course. Ser Davos, if it's not too much trouble I'd like a word regarding the state of Castle Black…" They went outside; Dany could hear their voices until they disappeared around the next corner and Winterfell's heavy stone walls blocked them from earshot. Two days. She had less than two days left in Northern hospitality. Less than two days with Jon. She was surprised to realize she would miss him; him and Sansa both. Viserys had always told her that the Stark family was no better than the creature they wore on their capes-but the ones she'd met had been nothing but welcoming to her.

She examined the sheets of paper one last time before she cast them aside, stacking them neatly on the side of the table. "It's getting late, Lord Snow. Aren't you tired?"

He shrugged. "I'll manage a while longer. I suppose I'm still used to pulling night shifts at Castle Black."

Which reminded her: "I assume you'll be heading back as soon as your sister is secure in Winterfell? Even though you're not Lord Commander anymore, you still seem to be very influential."

He looked down, examining the map of the North under his hands with an unerringly determined look on his face. "I don't think so. I'm not welcome there; I'm not a brother of the Night's Watch anymore and I believe I've lost my place. Sansa has agreed to let me lead the Northern forces to Dragonstone-we both believe it will be the best way for me to spread the word about the White Walkers, even if most people won't believe me."

"Oh." That stopped her cold for a minute-so she wouldn't be saying goodbye to Jon after all.

"Is something wrong, your h-Daenerys?" He caught himself just in time.

"No, it's fine. It's just that apparently you'll be stuck with me for at least the next month or so."

He grinned. "I would hardly say that so negatively. Unless of course, you'd rather have someone else-"

"No, of course not. You've already proved your loyalty to my house; it would be a pleasure to have you as a commanding general." And she was glad she wouldn't have to say goodbye to him yet, for some reason she couldn't quite explain; she had to admit that it was rather nice to have him following her around like a shadow-except when it became obnoxious because she really could take care of herself. Even so...it wasn't just the protection aspect, not when she sometimes felt like he was the only person in the entire world she could possibly talk to as a person, not a subject, ruler, or advisor. Recently, she'd been finding herself letting her guard down around him more easily-sometimes without realizing she was doing it. But she realized that this was dangerous; how many people were out there waiting for her to let their guard down so they could simply betray her? At least half of the sellsword companies, she was certain. She wanted to think that Jon wasn't like them, but she could trust no one-and until she knew Lord Stark's bastard better, she couldn't allow herself to get too close. "It's only that you were just reunited with your sister-"

"Sansa will be fine. Ser Davos is certainly capable of helping her assume her new role. And besides, soon enough King's Landing will be yours and I can come back to her."

She nodded. Time and again, Jon Snow surprised her; time and again, he proved he was different than all the other men she knew. "I appreciate your loyalty." With that she turned to leave, afraid she would drag herself deeper down if she stayed any longer. They were playing a dangerous game; she suspected he knew it just as well as she did. She couldn't afford to let herself get distracted from the bigger picture. They were still tentative allies; one conversation in a crypt didn't change that.

She wasn't surprised to find she had a headache by the time she finally managed to fall asleep.

~FAS~

The next day seemed to fly by. Once the decision had been made, things seemed to move extremely fast: there were provisions to pack, tents to ready, horses to shoe, and goodbyes to be said. Jon, Sansa, and Daenerys were busy from sunup to sundown making sure the troops would be ready to march the next morning as soon as the sun came up; luckily, they didn't have much to do to convince the soldiers to march all the way to Dragonstone. Although many of them were certainly war weary, the castle was filled with an air of excitement at the thought of fighting under three dragons (Jon even heard a few men say that there was no way the Lannisters would be able to mount a suitable defense, which could very well have been true). He was wont to keep it that way, even as the last few preparations were made.

By the time night fell, the new army stretched out in front of the castle-a seething mass of grey and white tents and tiny fires scattered here and there, surrounded by men singing bawdy drinking songs or kissing their sweethearts. It was still bitterly cold; Jon wouldn't mind going south just to escape winter, if it came to that-though if what Melisandre said was true, soon even King's Landing wouldn't be safe from the White Walkers. It made his spine prickle unpleasantly as he remembered the creatures were still out there-and now he was taking a detour, leading a battle when he should have been collecting more dragonglass.

"What are you thinking about?" Sansa stood next to him, mirroring his posture: leaning against the castle ramparts and looking out at the sea of tents.

"Nothing." he replied; Sansa didn't know anything about the White Walkers and far as he could tell she didn't need to.

"You're always thinking about something, Jon. You've always been too serious-even when you were a boy." She looked down, scratching a line in the stone wall. "Are you thinking about the Queen?"

"No." he answered, too quickly. "Not...the way you probably think I am, at least."

"She does seem different than Queen Cersei. Maybe she is the right choice for the Iron Throne-or perhaps we should just destroy the Iron Throne altogether."

He looked at her curiously. "And not be a monarchy? Whatever would we do then?"

"We could have a government run by people. It's not such an impossible idea, you know."

"I don't think our world is ready for such a thing-not when there are still petty lords who want to be king and bannermen willing to fight for them."

They stood in silence for a moment, the songs the men were singing wafting up to them on a cold night breeze, until Sansa finally spoke again. "Jon...be careful in the South, all right? I want you back here alive." So many hadn't, after walking on the Kingsroad-though Ned and Arya were the first names that came to mind. He'd thought Sansa was dead for a long time as well.

"I promise. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"We're the only Starks left. We have to stay together."

"I agree-and don't worry. I won't leave you." He hugged her close and they stayed that way for a long time, watching the campfires burn into the night, melting away the darkness.

So I've been trying to find an accurate count of the Northern forces but everything I've found gives me different numbers. I ended up going with 15,000 since they just fought (two) battles and they probably don't have as many troops as some of the other houses like the Tyrells and Lannisters.

Review, follow, and favorite! Thanks for reading!

Review, follow, and favorite! Thanks for reading!