SUMMARY: Jon, Daenerys, and Tormund outline a plan that benefits them all.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
heyoooo, lovelies!
super sorry for the late update. i caught such an awful cold that i couldn't do anything for the next few days except cough my lungs out and cry. why can't we get features to put post-it notes on fics when we half-die so readers can know why the heck we're not updating? someone should get on that.
i don't have much to say about it. just lots of thanks for the patience.
enjoy!
JON VIII
Maybe he should have said something.
No, he definitely should have.
Whenever he wasn't debating whether his departure had been properly executed or not, he spent his time thinking what he could have done instead. One more thought nailed into his head, stubbornly settled and refusing to leave, which kept his eyes wide open in the heart of darkness.
His eyes would stare absently into the pitch cloaking of the ceiling, switching constantly between regret and conviction, between approving and disapproving.
It hadn't been gallant, nor particularly courageous if he were to be fully honest, to find himself so grateful over her permission and leave the library wordlessly, as if he had fled from a blazing fire.
This amalgam of thoughts mattered not since the conclusion was always the same, reeling him back to the memory of his breath hitched in his throat and his lips trapped by hers.
That was the point when, whatever it was he was doing, he clung to distractions more hopelessly than ever. For most of the days that followed, he hardly left the confinement of his study, mostly sending Satin and his other stewards on delivery missions. He'd only snuck out when weariness managed to weigh him down completely, so that he could collapse over his sheets and fall into a deep slumber.
Rather than spending time pondering the answers to his numerous questions, he preferred tending to those needs he deemed more critical. For every shade of lilac that plastered itself to his sight like a flash of light, he'd stubbornly cling to the distant shouts of the black brothers around him, ceaselessly bickering among each other.
Early in the noon, he'd decisively finally left his tower and met Tormund and Grunell in the quarters they were confined to. Not surprisingly, when Tormund had heard of the Lord Commander's invitation for a private parlay in his study, he'd been about as non enthusiastic as he could get. Words of possible murders had been spoken, but ultimately, he'd given in, much to the dismay of his other companion.
Now, they were finally in the tower, opposite of each other and with only the dusty desk standing between them.
For someone of his stature, Tormund looked surprisingly small in his seat. It was probably due to the fact that he was guarded and indecisive, as opposed to displaying the same amounts of ferocity and confidence that he usually wore with him.
It was the wildling who spoke first, something that would get passed off as a formality in Westeros, but which meant nothing but a genuine remark for the Free Folk.
"Fancy place ya got 'ere," he grumbled, his eyes scanning throughout the chamber. He wasn't expecting a response to that, Jon could tell. It was only the icebreaker and if he continued with it without addressing the reasoning of his visit, Tormund would make sure to bite it out of him.
"I've made up my mind," Jon responded, albeit after a moment of ponder. Tormund's eyes locked on him, one brow quirking inquisitively.
"Oh? Have y'now? What a blessin' that Lord Crow finally decided ta save us all."
Jon couldn't mask the huff that fell of his lips, his back straightening in his own chair.
"Call it whatever you wish. You do need to get south of the Wall as soon as soon as possible."
"Don't say tha' like we don' know it."
"Then don't talk like you don't know it." A
t this point, he knew that there was really no light way of dealing with someone as hard-headed as Tormund, though that could easily be applicable to the Wildlings in general. They were proud people, harsh but truthful, with barely any drop of slyness in their body, save for a few exceptions like Orell Skinchanger. If he were to appease to them, a calm conversation full of subtleties wasn't the ideal approach.
Tormund cracked his neck, giving a light growl in his thick beard as he eyed Jon sharply, a look that he was all too formed with by now.
"You're here because I know you understood Mance's mission wasn't to rage a war – with us or the South," said Jon. "You understand that he was trying to do the exact same thing, to ensure that you and your people will have a future, not end up butchered by the Others."
"Aye," the wildling responded lowly. "That was it. An' I'm still gonna raise hell till I see it done."
"Then you agree that we need to work together."
"You an' me?" Tormund's lips fell downwards as he shrugged. "Maybe. You an' everyone else? Good luck with tha', boy."
Jon's lashes batted numbly as they veiled his gaze which drooped toward the edge of the desk in deep ponder. That was the biggest obstacle in their wake, he realized it.
"That's why I'll need your help," Jon breathed out.
Tormund scoffed, his chortle lonesome, gruff, and bitter.
"Damn right ya do. They're never gonna listen to ya."
"I know they won't. But they'll listen to you. This will only work if you believe, for real, that this is the right choice." Suddenly, Tormund's face turned grim and thoughtful, but his response stalled long enough for the silence to be broken by the sound of a faint, but firm enough knock on the door. "Come in," Jon called out, pressing his lips into his crossed fingers as he journeyed through the multiple trails of thoughts in his head.
Appearing in the threshold was Satin, who gave a curious glance toward Tormund before dipping his head in a respectful bow.
"Forgive the interruption, my Lord. It's Lady Daenerys. She wishes to speak with you."
Jon's eyes zapped immediately toward Satin, but instead of properly focusing on the boy, his gaze pierced through him, nearly sighting beyond the frame of the steward and expecting to see the silver locks and the pair of lilac eyes that haunted him.
He realized that he was dubiously delayed in his reply, which eventually came in the shape of a simple nod followed by a clear of his drying throat. His arms collapsed over the table with a thud, a heavy sigh rattling his lips as his gaze buried itself into the surface, as deeply as possible, almost as if he wished he could burn a hole through it and simply hurl himself inside of it.
He only barely peeked upward through his lashes when he heard Tormund chuckle.
"You an' the missus havin' private meetings? Don' wanna be interruptin' no thing, Jon Snow," said the brutish man, his crooked teeth bared through the joyous grin plastered on his face.
There was already enough pressure on Jon's shoulders to leave his head empty of any retaliation, painting instead his cheeks with a deep shade of crimson.
Daenerys stepped inside, for once donned in a rigid aura that was difficult to decipher. Jon wondered if she was bothering to toss any glances his way. He wouldn't know, his eyes being too busy with unimportant parchments scattered on his desk.
When Jon was about to dig the opening for their upcoming conversation, she spoke up instead.
"I have come to discuss a plan regarding getting my dragons back," she said, her voice carrying a particular lacing of steel that finally drew his gaze up from the safety of the desk. Her own lilac eyes were fixed on him, but they soon darted away to move toward Tormund, who had been wordlessly staring up at her from his seat. "This concerns the Free Folk too."
Jon noted that she chose to adopt this particular naming. He wanted to say something, but his confusion ensured Tormund would beat him to it.
"Oh-hoh," he snickered. "I'm listenin'."
"I want to propose a deal that will offer your people a settlement south of the Wall," she replied, only deepening how lost Jon was feeling. "There you will be under the same protection as the rest of the realm."
"A proposal, aye?" the wildling jested. "Noble intentions, gal, find me again when yer gonna live 'em up too."
As Tormund was speaking, Jon's gaze darted toward Daenerys under the crease of his quipped brows. He had many things to ponder over, but a very short time to do so. Before deciphering her words, he could tell that one thing was clear: he didn't want to undermine her. With a proposal came conditions and although she spoke of what the Free Folk would gain, she had yet to enlist what her own would be. If she needed the help of the wildlings for something, the last thing she could afford was having the rug slipped from underneath her feet and have her plans and directions questioned in front of a particularly hard-headed wildling.
In less than a few moments, Jon had to decide whether his priority was to request the consultation he humbly felt entitled to or to fuel the sole spark of home that she'd seemingly managed to find in her weeks at Castle Black.
His mind glided toward one direction and he chose to follow it through.
There was no time to go back.
"She's Daenerys Targaryen," Jon spoke shortly after Tormund ended his stance. "Her father was the king before Robert's Rebellion."
He was still unsure about how cultured the Free Folk were regarding the various affairs south of the Wall. Many were well-aware of his father's identity and seemed to hold an uncanny respect for his name, but there were also some who were completely oblivious. Something like the death of a dynasty and a major rebellion would surely spread throughout the realm, but seclusion with little means of communication wasn't an ally.
As he locked eyes with the wildling, Jon could tell that his words sparked some form of familiarity with him. Tormund disrupted the contact and let his eyes wander back toward Daenerys, this time more curiously.
"I see," he muttered, his neck twisted lightly, his lips kneading together. "So the princess wants daddy's big chair back."
"I want the throne because I can do a better job than the fool who took it from my family," Daenerys bit back, clearly irked by Tormund's assumptions and wordings.
"That's what they all say, girl."
After a prolonged moment in which Tormund's eyes, admittedly uncomfortably, journeyed across every inch of her body, Jon succumbed to the urge of leaning back into his chair with a thud, the echoing creak being the signal to tear the wildling's gaze away and direct it back to the Lord Commander.
"That's it, then?" huffed Tormund. "She gonna become queen, grant my people all the mead and joy in the world?" Jon's eyes flicked upward as he pressed his thumb into his teeth thoughtfully. It was clear by the way Tormund spoke that he'd immediately assumed Jon was in full knowledge of her intentions, which made this all the more difficult for him to handle.
"Listen to her proposal first," he suggested. "It might be what you need."
When his gaze clashed with Daenerys', it was clearly written all over it that he was granting her this one pass, that he had chosen to go along with her charade.
"I proposed a deal, not a gift," she clarified, pacing around, taking small steps which eventually brought her next to his desk, next to his side. "I have spoken to your friend. Grunell?"
"The old fart?" commented Tormund. "Death would be a better friend."
"It matters not. I asked him why you are here. You wish to be able to journey away from peril, do you not?"
"That would be pretty damn ideal."
"I made the Lord Commander a promise. I promised to help fight against the Others and I intend to keep that promise, but I need my dragons back in order to do so."
Tormund's brow furrowed deeply. "Wha'?"
She continued talking without much thought of why the wildling seemed confused.
"Help me release them from the bonds Euron Greyjoy has put on them. Once my dragons are released, victory will be won easily. With the support of the Lord Commander, I will turn my army and my dragons to the North in the fight against the Others in order to protect the realm and any people dwelling inside its borders."
It was clear judging by her wording that she had become aware of the position she had put him in and was trying to shift the circumstances, to create some sort of balance and illusion of an alliance.
For a moment, the possibility of this actually being a proper plan was overshadowed by his questions on exactly what Grunell had told her. Did she know about Stannis? Jon had been very vehement regarding its preservation as a secret, but he knew he had little to no control over what words flowed out of the Free Folk's mouths.
"—You are shittin' me, right?" Tormund asked, visibly flabbergasted. Yet, despite that, Daenerys was unwavering, keeping her end of her bargain steely and firm.
"If you agree to this deal, the details of the settlement will be made with the Lord Commander. It is his land to grant," she added and with those words, it was clear she had made the most of her point.
Tormund had fallen quiet again, his gaze slowly traveling from Daenerys down to the Lord Commander once more.
"Is this princess of yers speakin' the truth?" This princess of his.
"She has dragons," Jon spoke up with a faint nod. "She also has an army, but they're seized by someone else – this man, Euron Greyjoy. Surely, you know how much of a difference dragons could make." The dazzle in Tormund's features still wasn't gone, instead developing into an explosive laugh, truly not joyful and, instead, filled with mockery and disbelief. Jon could see him ready himself for a retort, another jesting remark, and he cut the man off before he had the chance. "It's the truth, Tormund. And not because she says it is. The news may not have reached beyond the Wall, but there have been witnesses that know they're real." Although he may have risked making his words sting a bit, he decided it was the right course of action when he started to notice Tormund's cynicism melt away from his figure. Tormund snorted, leaning into his chair with a thud and Jon realized it was an opportune moment to continue. "And that horn… You're no stranger to the magic certain horns can possess, are you?"
The wildling clenched his jaw, shifting the target of his intense stare from Jon to Daenerys, back and forth, back and forth.
"So… Me an' my people… We gonna fight fer ya… To get yer dragons back. The pretty crow's gonna give us these lands an' yer gonna come torch those frozen fuckers." He was addressing Daenerys, though his gaze was lowered through his wild gestures, very telling of how he was struggling to piece everything together.
"This would be the bottom line, yes," said Daenerys, a curt smile gracing her features. "I have been told that your people are fond of fair trades. Join me, come with me to Meereen, across the sea, and you can secure a future for your children."
After a moment, Tormund simply huffed and when his glance rose again, Jon could see clarity in his eyes again.
"Well, tha's nice. But them lands ain't yers to give, aye? What're we gonna get from you for fightin' in yer army?"
That was a clear dangerous territory. Jon's head was still slightly blurry from Tormund's reasoning and the confusion they wielded, but there was a fair point in there that he decided to cling to.
Not as revenge, but merely as compensation, he came forth with a response before Daenerys could.
"You're right. The lands of the Gift belong to the Night's Watch; it's my promise, not hers. But there's a limit to the territory, as with any other. If you'll be forced to journey further south, for whatever reason, as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms she can allow you to trespass and settle on lands that are no longer in my jurisdiction without the fear of retaliation." He flicked his gaze up toward Tormund and noticed the hollowness in his eyes. Jon froze for a moment, a hand stopped mid-air as he and the wildling exchanged wordless moments of confusion. In a feeble voice, Jon made an attempt at clearing it off. "You'll… be able to settle on lands that aren't mine and the people won't be allowed to attack you for it."
"Good," came Tormund's response, with no hesitation. Jon let out a deep sigh, briefly glancing up at Daenerys as a silent excuse for the promises he'd thrown on her bag, but he wasn't torn up enough to let the moment last any longer than a fleeting moment. It was interrupted by the creak of Tormund's chair, anyway. "Tha's nice an' dandy with me, but I ain't the one to shake hands with for the deal."
Jon frowned. "Mance's dead. Who's supposed to make the call, then?"
"All of the leaders of the clans. Each gotta decide for themselves now." Dreadful news, especially given the well-known story of long it'd taken Mance Rayder to rally all the clans and factions behind him.
"Where can we find as many of them?"
"Hardhome."
"Then that's where to go to discuss these matters."
"An' are ya proposin' t' take a swim on the way there, Jon Snow?"
Jon shifted lightly in his seat, his thumbs idly fiddling with each other.
"No. We have ships and boats docked at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea." Ships left behind by Stannis Baratheon for free usage in case this moment would ever come. "Just enough for how many of the Free Folk will be willing to join us, if any at all. If I send a raven right away, they'll be ready by the time you arrive there."
"By the time I arrive there?" Tormund quipped an eyebrow, for once more knowing of something than Jon was, who was visibly overtaken by a hue of confusion. "Oh, no, no, no. Yer comin' too, boy. If yer gonna ask my people for all this shit, they gonna need to hear it from the Lord Crow. Tell 'em no one's gonna chop off their heads the moment they get on those ships or walk through yer gates."
Jon clenched his jaw lightly, though his answer was hardly delayed.
"Alright. I understand—"
"The princess too."
Jon's words froze in his throat before they glided back down in a lumpy gulp.
A journey beyond the Wall was perilous enough for him, even after having spent so much time in the frigid snowland. But as much as he wished to not underestimate the strength Daenerys carried with her, it was impossible not to cynically look on her prospects. The cold, the brutality of the Free Folk combined with the risk of her requests, the threat of the imminent destruction brought by the Others… Even though there was a part of him that wished she would deny it, he knew there was no other way. It was so obvious that Tormund needn't even come assist his request with an explanation. Of course the person they'd be supposedly fighting for needed to be there to request their aid in person.
"Of course. They should hear it from me and none other," came Daenerys' response, as certain as he'd expected it to be.
"Good," said Tormund solemnly. "We best get ready as soon as possible. Winter ain't gonna wait us out."
Despite the urgency in Tormund's voice, Jon was still caught up in the poignant concern closing in around his guts like tight fists. He wondered if Daenerys was afraid of venturing beyond the Wall too, if she was only putting up a façade of bravery.
As Tormund started babbling away words of pride about Hardhome, Jon hurled a sheepish glance up toward Daenerys and, much to his dismay, he found that her gaze had been settled on him already.
Even despite the seriousness of this new outline, Jon found himself scorched up by her gaze. And he hated it. He hated how easily it had its wicked way with him and pulled him away from worldly matters and back into that library.
"… Obviously, ya don't have mammoths, but that's gonna do." This was all the extent of what Jon had processed in Tormund's speech. And he seemed to pick up on it. "Was I talkin' to my ass?"
"You were not," Daenerys jumped in, waving a hand. "It sounds like a beautiful and untamed place." No. One single glance cast toward her told Jon she had been as caught up in her thoughts just as he had been.
Suddenly, he felt Tormund's heavy gaze on him.
"She the reason why you so damn tired all the time, Jon Snow?" snickered the wildling, a brow bolted. Daenerys made no attempts at masking the sigh that rolled off her lips.
"No. The ruckus you and your men have caused are," retorted Jon, bitterly. Not wishing to grant Tormund any more opportune moments to torment him, Jon rose from his seat, planting his fists against the table. "Is it decided then, Tormund?"
Tormund straightened his back and, after a short moment, offered a determined nod.
Then Jon's gaze journeyed toward Daenerys once again, his eyes carrying the very same question, along with many others. Along with a silent plea that perhaps she would choose safety and selfishness over venturing into those cold, whistling winds.
But there was nothing of that sort in her face.
For the first time in a couple of months, she had found a spark of hope and that spark had given birth to a mighty fire that nothing could extinguish.
"It is decided on my part as well," she answered determinedly.
Feeling the sharpness of his teeth biting at the inside of his cheek, Jon straightened his back. Everyone else was braving it out for this one attempt that could very easily make the difference between life and death, that could prove to be, in the long run, their salvation.
"Very well," Jon decided. "In a couple of days we will head for Hardhome."
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
and, ta-da! at last, we are going to leave the castle black scenery! gosh, it was getting boring as heck, eh? and, yes, it's THE hardhome. we'll be spending a bit of time at eastwatch too, so exciting times! are you guys looking forward to it?
as for the romance bit, man, i could feel the awkwardness as if i was actually there, yikes.
sadly, i can't afford compensating with an early update after this delay. so, next chapter is coming, as per usual, after four days. more specifically, on sunday, the 12th of november (assuming i don't fall in a ditch or something).
thank you so much for all the support and i'm beyond happy so many of you are enjoying the story so far. and there's still soooo much in store. ;)