Not exactly the Jonerys meeting yet but Jon is in King's Landing. I know that it feels like I'm stalling (and you may be right, a little) but I want the meeting to be perfect and for that to happen, I need to set everything just so. Hope you like this anyway! And thank you so much for your support, you have no idea how much it means to me. I've never written so much in such little time before and while I'm feeling really inspired by this story, part of the reason I've been able to write one chapter a day is because of all of you! So, thank you!

Chapter 8

"You've given everyone a place in the small council but me, your Grace. I can't help but feel a little hurt by that."

Daenerys smiled at Daario. His bravado didn't serve to cover the fact that he was really offended by her decision.

"I have another task for you, Daario Naharis. You will start training new soldiers. Some will serve as protectors for the prostitutes in the brothels and others will be employed in the new City Watch I plan on creating."

"It will take time before they become proficient enough to fight." Daario replied, but he seemed mollified by her decision.

"Everything worth obtaining requires time. In the meantime, my Unsullied and Dothraki will keep order in the city." Daenerys said before adding, "Another thing. I want you to employ your men to search for healers – even those who have just basic knowledge of medicine – and scholars within the city, and even simply those who are already capable of reading, writing and counting. Don't scare them, of course. Make sure they know no harm will come to them. Tell them I will need their services soon."

"Of course, my Queen. Your every wish is my command." His tone became suggestive once again.

Daenerys rolled her eyes. "You're dismissed."

Daario bowed to her and left the room but not before sending her one last comment, "I was wrong."

"About what?"

"About the fact that you weren't made to sit in a chair and live in a palace. The Iron Throne suits you."

Daenerys smiled. "Well, it was created by my ancestor. Just like everything else you see in this city. I supposed it's only natural. Though I don't know if that's a good thing yet."

"I think it is."


"Do you have any news about a friend of mine, Archmaester Marwyn? Ser Jorah Mormont?" Daenerys asked the Archmaester the citadel had finally sent to cover the post of Grand Maester. Daenerys thought he was a fitting choice. Probably one of the few maesters in Old Town who weren't intimidated by magic or her dragons. One of the few maesters who had actually gained a link of Valyrian steel.

"Oh, the fellow with the greyscale." Marwyn chuckled. "Well, your Grace. Last I heard, he was cured and intent of reuniting with the Queen he loves and worships. He couldn't stop singing your praises and, when he heard you had taken the capital, he sworn that no one was more fitting to rule than you and that he couldn't wait to see you on the Iron Throne with his own eyes."

Daenerys smiled. "Ser Jorah has always been very loyal to me."

"And with good reason. From what I've seen you're doing a marvelous job, your Grace."

"Thank you…Grand Maester." Daenerys said, "but now, have you found what I asked?"

"Yes, your Grace." And with that, he retrieved from his pocket an old journal. "That's the journal you asked. I won't dare ask what you need it for. From the few pages I skimmed through, it sounds awfully boring."

"You'll soon see. Everyone will, sooner or later."


It was past midday by the time the ship bearing the reversed Stark banner docked in front of the River Gate. The captain had found it difficult to maneuver the ship once they had reached Blackwater because of the impossibly large number of other ships floating on the bay, bearing the proud red and black Targaryen sigil but also the kraken of the Greyjoys, the golden flower of the Tyrells and the Red Sun of the Martells.

Jon had felt his apprehension growing the closer they had gotten to the capital and now he was barely able to keep himself still, a nervous energy infusing his body and making his hands tremble. He clenched his hands into fists and ordered himself to calm down.

He stood on deck with Davos at his side and looked ahead at the city. The sun shone bright and high in the sky, the hot weather of the south making him sweat already from underneath the furs Sansa had made for him and Jon noticed with some relief that, at least from there, it didn't look like King's Landing had sustained any great damage from the Dragon Queen's invasion.

Three different, very loud and terrifying roars brought him out of his thoughts and Jon looked up on instinct, searching for the origin of the noise. And there, high in the sky, three enormous shapes that from so far away could be confused with impossibly large birds, were soaring over the city and for a moment the entire area of King's Landing was covered in shadows.

Dragons. His mind told him helpfully. But even knowing the dragons were back, even knowing Daenerys Targaryen had brought them back to life after a century of extinction, even knowing, rationally, that he was going to see them by coming here, it was still something difficult to wrap his head around.

Jon realized then, that the child he had been, the one who had worshiped Aemon the Dragonknight and Daeron the Young Dragon, would have felt like he was living a dream come true. Dragons and a Targaryen dragonrider on the throne. One of the stories of his childhood, come to life.

But he was not that child anymore. And this Targaryen queen, this conqueror of cities, could turn out to be just as much a dangerous enemy as the Night King himself. She had gained so much power in so little time, it was honestly terrifying.

Jon had a certain idea in mind of how Daenerys Targaryen would look like. She probably looked tall and intimidating, built like a warrior. An image of Brienne of Tarth with silver hair, violet eyes and a crown on her head made his way into his mind and he almost laughed aloud.

"Well, if that wasn't a show of power…" Davos said, looking up at the sky as well, "I will eat my own shoes."

"She's certainly letting us know that she can do whatever she wants with us and there would be no stopping her." Jon said with an ironic tilt of the head.

"Just try not to piss her off, your Grace. I would really like not to be burnt alive or eaten by dragons."

"I'll try my best." Jon smirked a little though, inside, the fear he was trying so hard to suppress, reared its ugly head. Not fear of dying, no. When you died once, death became less freighting somehow. No, he was afraid of what would happen to Sansa and the North if he failed in this mission. They needed Daenerys Targaryen, not as an enemy, but on their side, fighting with them against the army of the dead or everything would be lost.

As soon as the ship docked on the harbor, his Stark men descended, then Davos and then Jon himself. It was still weird, thinking about respecting all these ceremonies, but especially the idea that he was King in the North now, like Robb had been before him. Jon wasn't used to interact with nobles, let alone royalty. When King Robert had come to Winterfell, he had been ordered to stay out of sight all the time. And now he was about to meet a Targaryen queen, like the ones of old like Visenya and Rhaenys, and he was supposed to convince her, not only not to attack the North, but to also gain her help in the fight against the Night King.

All of a sudden, he was filled with doubts. Was he the right person for this? He hasn't ever been good at diplomacy. That was Sansa's strength, not his. Maybe Sansa should have been here and not him.

But no, Sansa hadn't even wanted him to go south and talk to the Dragon Queen. She didn't understand the enemy, not like him. Sure, she believed him when he said that there was an army of dead men who would kill them all if they get past the Wall but she didn't really understand what it meant. Nobody could until they had seen them in person. It was just something too big for the human mind to contemplate.

And yet, he was supposed to convince Daenerys Targaryen of the danger, not only for the North, but all the realms, without a shred of proof? Only his word. That was all he had and it seemed such a pitiable thing to have.

It seemed like an impossible task. But what other choice did he have?